


Unwanted Celebrity

by Kryptaria, rayvanfox



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Actors, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Photographer, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-25
Updated: 2014-08-10
Packaged: 2018-02-10 10:33:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 72,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2021787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kryptaria/pseuds/Kryptaria, https://archiveofourown.org/users/rayvanfox/pseuds/rayvanfox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fifteen years ago, a skinny kid from Brooklyn went to an arts summer camp, where he met child movie star Jimmy Barnes. Their unlikely friendship faded as the years passed. But now, a threat to Barnes' career brings Steve back into his life, in the most unexpected of ways.</p><p>Or, the one where Bucky is a smooth celebrity, right up until Steve the snarky photographer shows up, and Bucky's whole world gets blown to pieces.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As always, this story would be nothing without our wonderful betas. They are, in alphabetical order: littlerosetrove, scriptrixlatinae, spadesinspades, thesecretbeta, writehopper, and zephyrfox. Thank you!
> 
> ~~~

**Tuesday, March 4, 2014**

The street was pitch black outside the range of the motorcycle’s single headlight. Green grass grew right up to the neat concrete curbs — no sidewalks here, and no streetlamps, either. There might’ve been lights in the houses, but it was impossible to tell. Driveways led to gates set into high walls or hedges, with front lawns stretching so far into the distance that the houses — mansions, really — might as well have been on the Moon.

Steve didn’t belong here. The motorcycle was too loud, too old, too rusted out in spots. It qualified as vintage by age alone. While he had kept it from falling apart, he couldn’t exactly describe its condition as ‘lovingly restored’. He wasn’t wearing a scrap of designer clothing, he had all of two twenties left in his wallet, and his precious camera — which he’d scrimped and saved for two years to buy — was probably the equivalent of a kid’s toy, around here.

He stopped at an intersection with a hand-painted street sign that was probably ‘charming’ in daylight and useless at night. He had to check the map on his phone to verify that he should keep going straight instead of turning left.

It was almost nine. It was too late to go ringing doorbells, especially at the house of someone who was basically a stranger. Steve had left home early enough, but he hadn’t counted on getting lost in a twisting, winding maze of narrow, tree-lined streets. Hell, he hadn’t even realized he _was_ lost until he’d come in sight of the shore, miles off his path.

He put the phone back in his jacket pocket and started driving again, just as the rain that had been threatening finally started to fall.

 _Wonderful,_ he thought, slowing to a crawl. The last thing he needed was for some pissed-off wet squirrel to come barreling out of the trees, making him swerve and break his leg. He was _positive_ his insurance policy wouldn’t cover any hospitals within twenty miles of this zip code.

He didn’t even realize he’d passed his destination until he felt a faint buzz against his chest. He hunched over to check his phone, then made a U-turn, miraculously without going up onto the curb, to go back to the driveway.

Black iron gate. Red brick wall, hidden by ivy. One tiny little call box.

He got right up to the box and pressed the button. As he waited, he pulled off his helmet, wondering how to explain his presence to a faceless, disembodied stranger.

And when that stranger finally answered, things got worse, not better, because it was a _woman_ who said, “Yes?”

“Uh, hi. I’m Steve. Steve Rogers?” he said loudly, resisting the urge to shout. “I’m here to see Buck— er, James?”

“I’m sorry. Mr. Barnes isn’t seeing guests tonight.”

Steve bit back a sigh. “Yeah, look, this is — It’s important, ma’am. I really need to talk to him. Just for a few minutes.”

“You’re welcome to contact his business office and make an appointment.”

Steve had already tried that, for a week straight. His calls were being routed directly to voicemail by now. “Look, could you just tell Buck that Steve’s here? Steve Rogers, from summer camp?”

“Summer camp?” He could hear the skepticism in her voice.

“Please? I’ll just...” Well, there was no point in saying he’d wait here, because what else was he going to do? Drown if the streets flooded? Get eaten by starving squirrels?

She made a soft sound, maybe a laugh, and then he heard the _click_ as she broke the connection. It sounded very final.

Resigned, Steve thought about putting his helmet back on, but now his hair was wet. He twisted around and strapped the helmet to the back of the bike instead, over the saddlebags. Worst case, he’d find a diner where he could dry off, and then head back to Brooklyn when the weather cleared.

Assuming there even were diners in this part of Long Island.

 

~~~

 

Parts, parts. Too many parts. Or not enough. Bucky knew there was an infrared sensor somewhere in the bin of parts, and that he could hook it up to the mini-computer he’d already found, then program it to set off an explosion when movement was detected.

All of this from watching those two minutes in the most recent James Bond movie where they’d really needed more high tech booby traps in the lodge. It had been too much like _Home Alone_ , for Christ’s sake.

The _click-click-click_ of heels on wood steps was the only warning he had. He looked up from the plastic bin to see his PA, Natalie Rushman, walk into sight. Even though it was late, she was still dressed for the office — not that she actually went to an office — in heels, a pencil skirt, and a jacket over her white blouse.

The fact that she had a compact Glock under that jacket was something he overlooked, especially since he thought he wasn’t supposed to know about it.

“Sorry to bother you, Mr. Barnes,” she said in a tone that implied she was just saying that to be polite. Her job was to bother him, after all.

“What’s up, Nat?” He still wasn’t sure if she liked it when he called her that, but that was more to do with her poker face than anything else. Besides, he preferred nicknames, especially in his own home with people who were supposed to ‘know’ him.

“Did you go to summer camp?”

Bucky had turned back around to the bins full of components that he’d tried to confine to one corner of the great room, which served as his basement workshop, but her question made him look at her and frown. “Yeah...? God, a million years ago, but yeah. That arts camp, here on Long Island. Why?”

“I’ll update your records to reflect your age more accurately,” she said, deadpan. “Someone claiming to be from your summer camp is at the front gate. Name’s Steve Rogers. He called you ‘Buck’,” she added, raising an eyebrow expectantly.

“Fuck. Seriously?”

He’d been known by everyone back then as little Jimmy Barnes, darling son of the hottest Hollywood couple, the child star whose talent was undeniable. It was mostly in the eyes. Everyone loved his baby blues. Even at camp there had been a level of awe Bucky had had to push through, and most of the time it wasn’t worth it. No one had cared about actually getting to know _him_.

Except for Steve, the scrawny, blond kid in the photography and art classes. Steve was the only one who had done as he’d requested and called him Bucky. To the present day there had only been a handful of people who'd used that nickname for him.

“Well, shit. Let him in. Bring him to the study, I guess.”

Natalie nodded and walked off to the elevator, and Bucky stared into the components bin, having completely forgotten what he was looking for. Not that it mattered now. He pushed the bin aside and climbed the spiral staircase into what was now more a TV room than a study. They’d always called it the study, though, and even with a massive entertainment system taking up one whole wall and a full bar where his father’s desk used to be, he couldn’t stop. The end of the movie was still playing, so he muted it, then walked over to the bar to refill his drink.

A couple of minutes later, he heard Natalie’s voice asking questions, answered by a deeper male voice. But instead of moving towards the study, they remained in the foyer for longer than Bucky expected. He wandered back to the doorway, wondering what was going on, and saw Natalie heading his way. Behind her —

Well, _that_ wasn’t Steve, at least not as Bucky remembered him. Of course, Steve had been a teenager back then, barely over five and a half feet tall, scrawny to the point of looking underfed. This man was an inch taller than Bucky and _very_ nicely built, at least as far as Bucky could see, under a blue and green flannel shirt. His hair was wet — why, Bucky had no idea — and the water turned it from blond to medium brown, matching the stubble on his jaw.

An enticing stranger, but a stranger nonetheless. Time to play host, whoever he was.

“Hey, come on in.” Bucky extended his right hand, holding his glass in his left. The guy didn’t seem to notice the metal fingers, though he probably knew about it. Hell, everyone did, after the photoshoot when he’d been announced as playing the Winter Soldier. “Something to drink? I’m having scotch.”

Up close, the stranger was even more handsome, with blue eyes a shade darker than Bucky’s and a sweet, shy smile. His eyelashes were wet too, and when he looked self-consciously down at the floor, they laid across his cheekbones in such a familiar way that Bucky lost his breath for a second.

_Oh. That._

So there was no doubt that this _was_ Steve Rogers, no matter how different he was from the skinny little kid from summer camp, because Bucky remembered that shy, unguarded expression so well he could feel it in his gut.

He’d forgotten about that. Steve might have been scrawny, but he’d also been beautiful and intelligent and kind. And the memories of that warmed Bucky through in a distracting way.

When Steve shook his hand, the touch wasn’t at all familiar, except in the feel of too-cold skin. Back then, Steve had always had cold hands, with long, bony fingers usually covered in charcoal or chalk from his morning art classes. Now, his hands felt rain-damp and chilled, though callused and strong.

“Sorry for showing up” — he faltered, giving a confused glance to Natalie before he turned his smile back on Bucky — “kinda out of nowhere.”

“It’s fine. It’s good to see you. Are you cold? Let me get you that drink.”

“Did you need anything else, Mr. Barnes?” Natalie asked, which was her code for telling him she planned on staying close. Otherwise, she would have left without saying another word.

If she was going to hover, at least she could be useful. “Toddies, Nat. Hot water and cinnamon sticks from the kitchen. Please.”

She stared at him. The way her eyebrow twitched seemed threatening.

“What? Oh, and honey.” He looked innocently at her. “We need that, too. Our guest fell into a pool or something on his way here.”

“No, please, don’t go to any trouble,” Steve said, looking anxiously between them. “I really — It’s late. I shouldn’t stay long.”

Bucky shook his head at Steve’s protests. “Nat. Please?”

“Yes, Mr. Barnes,” Natalie said, turning on her heel and walking off. Bucky made a note to give her an Easter bonus or something. That was the next holiday, wasn’t it?

“She’s — She’s not —” Steve faltered again and closed his mouth, face going pink with embarrassment.

“There is nothing Nat is _not._ That’s part of the job description. Come in, please.” He ushered Steve into the study and over to the bar to find glasses and lemons. “To what do I owe this pleasure, Steve?” he asked, because it certainly was a pleasure. Steve was straight-up pretty in an unexpectedly rugged way that his shyness tempered beautifully. Bucky couldn’t help looking him up and down while speaking, slotting this new gorgeousness into his understanding of his old friend.

“It’s —” Steve hesitated just inside the doorway and glanced back over his shoulder, as if expecting Nat to be lurking behind him with a machete. “I, uh, went into photography. Remember, from camp? That was sort of my thing?”

“Sure, yeah, you always had your camera around your neck. You kept it up? That’s great,” he lied cheerfully.

That was so _not_ great. Photographs were the bane of Bucky’s existence, and the thought of having to turn Steve down for a photo op ruined the high of getting to see him again. Steve was probably freelancing and short of work and wanted to trade on knowing a celebrity who was the hot thing right now, what with the new movie coming out...

“Yeah.” Steve took a deep breath, bracing himself, and Bucky did the same, because he knew what came next. “A guy on one of the forums I’m on. He says, er, that he’s got” — Steve faltered again — “well, pictures of you. And, um, someone else. And he thinks he’s going to get rich off them, with your movie...”

 _What the hell?_ That was how it worked. Steve was clearly an amateur. “Honey, everyone’s got pictures of me and someone else. Usually Jane, since she’s my girlfriend in the film. What of it? Let him sell them to a magazine. I don’t care.”

Another deep breath, and dammit, any other time, Bucky would be _very_ interested in what that did under Steve’s shirt. Then Steve said, “It’s not Jane. Or a girl.”

Bucky stopped fiddling with lemons and wishing Nat would come back with the hot water. He turned to look directly at Steve — who was avoiding his eyes — and carefully asked, “Oh?”

“Yeah.” Steve shoved his hand into the pocket of his jeans and took out a slightly crumpled yellow post-it note. “I tried calling your office, but I couldn’t get past the front desk, and — well, I figured you should know. I saw you’re scheduled to do press in a couple of months.” He looked around the study, then took a careful step, to the very edge of the throw rug, and leaned over to put the post-it on the coffee table. “That’s the guy and the company he works for. You can give that to your lawyers or someone. So...” He retreated back a few steps, into the doorway, and gave Bucky a faint smile. “It was nice seeing you again, Buck. Can’t wait for the new movie.”

Bucky needed about five times more information than Steve had given him, probably much more than Steve had, but he wasn’t about to let Steve go until he could assess the situation a little better. It was possibly a lot more work than just giving a couple of names to a lawyer, depending on what exactly the photos had captured. Bucky stepped towards the doorway, his hand outstretched.

“Hang on, Steve. At least stay and have that toddy. I can’t let you go out in the cold before you’ve properly warmed up.” Bucky felt like he was approaching a wild animal who would bolt at any moment, so he stopped halfway and gestured to the couch, bringing out his most charming smile. “Please.”

“I don’t want to bother you.” But Steve stopped walking away and smiled. “You must be busy. Besides, I know you don’t like photographers.”

“I like you... or at least, I did once. And honestly, I was watching James Bond blow things up and avoiding texts from my agent.” Bucky smiled again and moved towards the couch, suddenly hoping Steve would stay for the company, not just the intel. “Please, Steve. Have a seat.”

A little bit of the tension seemed to leave Steve’s posture. “I’m soaked. Motorcycles aren’t exactly built for rain. I was just going to find a diner and dry off.”

“Jesus, that’s a horrible plan. You’d have to drive ten miles before you’d find a diner. Here, follow me. Let’s find you some towels and dry clothes, and I really will serve you a toddy in a minute...”

“Buck — It’s okay,” Steve protested, taking a couple of steps after Bucky as he headed back into the main hallway and turned towards the bedroom wing. “Really, I don’t want to bug you. I just wanted to get you that info, and your people wouldn’t even talk to me. That’s all.”

Bucky turned and looked Steve in the eye as much as he was able, with Steve constantly looking down at his own feet or at the less-than-fascinating walls. “Steve. You’ve been in my house for almost ten minutes, and you’re still wet and cold and without a hot beverage in your hands. I am _failing_ at being a host to an old friend. _That’s_ what bugs me. Help me succeed here, huh?” Bucky smiled at him, imploringly. This was an easy role to slip into, and he found that for Steve, he was actually enjoying it.

Steve’s genuine smile hit without warning, lighting up his eyes, and it played havoc with Bucky’s heartbeat. “Are you like this with all strays? I’m gonna find twenty dogs hanging out on thousand-dollar armchairs, aren’t I? Cats, everywhere. Oh, my God, you’re a crazy cat lady. Being a star finally got to you.”

Bucky smirked good humoredly at Steve’s ribbing. “Ha. Not me, not here. I’m gone too often for that. I’ll just have to use all my rescuing instincts on you.” He led Steve out of the study and down the hall. The guest rooms were always kept clean and stocked, ready for company. “Besides, do you know what it does to me... Do you have any idea how nice it is to hear that name?”

“‘Cat lady’?” Steve asked, looking around self-consciously he followed Bucky into the nearest guest bedroom. “Sorry, Buck, but if the fur fits...”

Bucky knew he was smiling like the Cheshire Cat, but he couldn’t help it. No one had teased him like this in a long time. Maybe not since being on set with Jane for principal photography almost a year ago. It was so refreshing to not hear ‘Yes, Mr. Barnes’ or to deal with some starstruck fan.

“Bucky,” he said, leading Steve into the ensuite bathroom. “The name ‘Bucky,’ Steve.”

For one moment, a puzzled frown crossed Steve’s face. Then it melted into a shy smile. “Oh. Yeah, sorry. I just can’t picture you as ‘James’, you know. And the last time someone called you Jimmy —”

“You almost got kicked out of camp for punching him,” Bucky interrupted, laughing at the memory.

Steve grinned. “You were too polite.”

“You were my hero.” Embarrassed, Bucky opened the linen closet to get a couple of towels, and quickly changed the subject. “Now get out of those clothes. Take a hot shower if you want. I’ll find you something you can wear.” He looked up at Steve, who seemed unsure about everything, and asked, “All right?”

“Anyone else, I’d say you were after me for my Harley,” Steve accused. “But yeah, I promise not to climb out the window while your back’s turned.” He took the offered towels with another shy smile.

“Fuck, please don’t. Security would have a field day with you. Though now I’m gonna have to sneak a look at your bike while your back is turned.”

Steve shrugged, glancing down as if embarrassed. “As long as it’s in the dark. There’s a rust problem I can’t control. Needs too many new parts, but who has the time?”

Bucky refrained from naming a few folks he knew that collected old bikes and refurbished them with their extra time and money — Bruce Banner, for one — and just shrugged and smiled. “Later, then. There’s shampoo and things, whatever you need, help yourself. If you can’t find anything, we can ask Nat. I’ll be right back.” He left the bathroom to Steve and went in search of something that would fit that physique.

 

~~~

 

_What the hell are you doing?_

Quietly, Steve closed the bathroom door, then sank back against it, closing his eyes. He could just imagine Sam freaking out over this. Then again, Sam had been against this from the start.

“You don’t piss off the competition, Steve. Not like this,” Sam had scolded as soon as Steve had mentioned warning Bucky about those pictures. This was one of the biggest companies out there. Steve was in their good graces, though barely. If he pissed them off, he’d have a hard time finding buyers for his candid shots.

But Bucky was a friend — or he’d once been a friend, anyway — and while summer camp friendships might not mean a damned thing to most people, Bucky had meant a lot to Steve. Too much, maybe. He’d been Steve’s first real friend. And, yeah, his first real crush, too, which Bucky was _never_ going to find out. Not back then, when Bucky could’ve had any girl he’d wanted — including a couple of the counselors — and certainly not now, despite the rumored pictures that implied Bucky wasn’t exactly straight.

Steve piled the towels on the counter and started the shower, though a place like this probably had on-demand hot water, rather than a clunky old heater in the basement. When he sat down to take off his boots, he felt his phone vibrate. He’d stuck it in the pocket of his jeans when that woman, Nat, had insisted on taking his jacket.

_If you’re dead, I’m switching rooms with you._

Steve grinned at the text and quickly answered: _I’m okay. Made it here in one piece. It’s raining, so I’m going to stick around for a while._

He sent it without really thinking. Hopefully Bucky would let Steve throw his clothes in the dryer. Twenty minutes and he’d be ready to hit the road again, and he could get out of this too-big, too-expensive house and back to his cramped, familiar quarters in Brooklyn.

As he stripped off his shirt, the phone buzzed again, with Sam’s response: _Stick around for a while. Really, Steve? What the hell are you up to? Do I need to rescue you?_

God, he was such a mother hen sometimes. Shaking his head in amusement, Steve typed back: _I’m fine, Sam, really. He’s not going to throw me out so I die on some dark, winding road and let the squirrels eat my corpse. I’m just waiting out the rain. Worst case, I’ll find a diner and have some coffee until morning._

Knowing that this could turn into an all-night back-and-forth, he turned the phone to silent, took off his jeans and socks, and then got into the blissfully warm shower. The water pressure was stronger than anything he’d experienced in years, and he decided on the spot that he might just stay right there under the spray until his clothes were dry.

And then he remembered Bucky had said he’d be back, and he switched plans. He could shampoo, soap, and rinse in five minutes, which was how much hot water he usually managed to get in the morning, when everyone else in the building was trying to get ready for the work day.

He turned off the water, wrapped a towel around his waist, then started drying off, listening the whole time for any sign of Bucky. When he’d finished, leaving only his hair damp and spiky, he thought about opening the door to peek out, before he remembered Natalie.

Best not to take chances, he decided. He wasn’t about to walk out and find her lurking in the bedroom with a change of clothes for him. He’d just wait here. Safer that way.


	2. Chapter 2

**Tuesday, March 4, 2014**

Bucky walked out of the bedroom and nearly ran down Natalie, who sidestepped with a dancer’s grace and regarded him with both eyebrows raised.

“What? He’s wet and cold,” Bucky said. “Has the water boiled yet? Do we have clothes that would fit him?”

“The water’s boiled, and I mixed the toddies for you already. They’re in the study. I take it you’d like me to find him clothes? He’s about your size, unless we’re putting him in a suit.”

“Thanks.” He started walking towards his bedroom suite. He looked back at her and she followed. “He’s taller than me. Will that matter? If not, I can grab some stuff.”

“Are you taking him out somewhere?” she countered. When he gave her a startled look, she calmly asked, “What are we dressing him for? Or is this just to admire the view?”

Bucky huffed, annoyed, but conceded it was a fair question. “Look, he’s an old friend. He drove out here on his bike from, like, Williamsburg or some shit. And apparently, it’s raining. I just want him to be comfortable while his clothes dry. Speaking of... I’ll find clothes, you turn on the fireplace.” He turned to walk away, but called over his shoulder, “The one in the study.”

“Yes, Mr. Barnes,” she said, turning on her heel to head back for the study.

Bucky went through the master suite into his walk-in-closet and rifled through the dresser of casual and workout clothes. He found a pair of navy sweatpants and a plain gray T-shirt. Then he grabbed a hoodie, just in case. And socks. And — fuck — a pair of boxer briefs.

He hadn’t had a guest over for a long time — not just one, for a casual evening. He’d hosted events, had a group of folks over for a weekend, even had a formal dinner party the last time his parents were in town from Florida, but not something like this. It shouldn’t have been nerve-wracking, but it kind of was. Maybe it was because he hadn’t seen someone from the old days in years. Someone who knew him from before he went to war. He’d tried to keep his distance from that life when he came back from the desert. It felt too complicated to try to catch people up on where he was now, and he didn’t really fit back into their world anymore.

Except everything had felt easy with Steve so far. Not that he’d had to deal with the whole arm thing yet. Steve hadn’t even seemed to notice Bucky’s hand, but still there was that whole conversation — and the fielding of uncomfortable questions — to get through.

Whatever. Steve was probably almost out of the shower and would be needing clothes. Bucky could think about what it was like to have friends again later, after he was more sure. After, the savvy part of his brain supplied, he knew what was what with those damned pictures.

There were a couple of possibilities for the ‘other guy’, depending on how old the pictures were. If they were from the army, that was one sort of shitstorm. If after... well, that could be one of two people, depending on how intimate the pictures were, and both of those men were public figures. That would take a hell of a lot more to mitigate any fallout, for him and them.

When Bucky approached Steve’s bathroom, he could tell the shower was already off, so he knocked gently. “Steve? It’s me.”

The door opened just enough for Bucky to see half of Steve’s face and a long stretch of muscles and winter-pale skin that looked nothing like the skinny kid who’d almost drowned in swimming class. He looked past Bucky, as if making sure the room was clear, then opened the door a little bit more.

“I really appreciate this,” he said, smiling at Bucky. “It’s not like I’m riding a Goldwing with heated seats.”

Bucky couldn’t help but smile back. “Of course, no worries. And thank God you aren’t on one of those monstrosities. I’d have to defriend you this instant.” He held out the pile of clothes in his hands. “Here, trade you, dry for wet.”

“Um. Yeah.”

Carefully, Steve let go of the towel he’d tucked around his waist. When it didn’t fall, he took the clothes from Bucky and turned away. And then Bucky saw another change from skinny, summer camp Steve — a tattoo, stretching from Steve’s waistline up to his shoulderblade, of what looked like a dragon, done in gorgeous shades of blue, green, purple, and yellow. Instead of wings, it had fins everywhere, swirling and sweeping as if it were underwater instead of in the sky.

Steve set down the borrowed clothes, took a wallet and belt from his jeans, then rolled everything into a ball, which he wrapped in a towel before carrying it back to the door. “I can throw them in the dryer. They’re still wet,” he said apologetically.

“I got it. It’s cool. The laundry’s way down past the bowling alley, near the movie theatre.”

Steve gave Bucky a sharp, narrow-eyed look. “Bowling alley? You have — Never mind. Of course, you do,” he said with a quiet laugh as he handed over the bundle. “Try not to get lost.”

“It’s not _lost_ I have a problem with; I’ve lived here since I was tiny. It’s _distracted._ And I’ll show you all that later. Hurry up and get dressed.” He turned to go, then stopped. “Oh, if something doesn’t fit, lemme know.”

“As long as these aren’t your — Nat’s clothes, I think I’ll be fine.” One last smile, and Steve closed the door.

Bucky found himself whistling as he headed down to the laundry room in the basement and shook his head at himself. When he arrived back in the study, he learned that the hot toddies were now lukewarm, and trotted off to the kitchen to boil more water and start over. He wanted them hot and strong. Just because this was a business call didn’t mean Bucky couldn’t make it as pleasant as possible — not that a grown-up Steve, in _his_ clothes on _his_ couch, wasn’t already much more pleasant than the night had first promised.

 

~~~

 

Steve felt a little lost without his clothes. Not that what Bucky provided wasn’t comfortable, because it was — and probably cost far too much, judging by the brand labels. And thank God, he’d provided underwear, because strange as it was to wear someone else’s, it would’ve been worse to go without. _Especially_ around Bucky, who was even more devastating now than he’d been at seventeen.

He dressed, hung the towels for lack of anything better to do with them, then picked up his boots, wallet, phone, and belt. He probably could’ve put the boots on, but Bucky had been barefoot. After tugging the hoodie down over the shirt and taking a deep breath, he headed out —

And found an empty bedroom. Which was less intimidating than Bucky sitting there waiting for him, but Steve didn’t want to go wandering. Sure, they’d once been friends, but they’d never been _equals_. Not in any way that mattered now, because Steve had ended up in a profession that meant celebrities like Bucky were his chosen prey, much as he hated the thought. But it wasn’t like landscape photography paid the bills, and there weren’t enough weddings and parties to do more than fill the occasional weekend.

Finally, he headed out into the hall, where his thoughts were disrupted by the warmth under his feet. He slid his foot over the tile experimentally. It was all warm, just enough that there wasn’t that unpleasant chill he felt every time he went barefoot into the kitchen for a late night snack back home.

Why wasn’t he surprised?

He figured it was safe enough to make his way back to the little sitting room, office, study — whatever. It was just around the corner, so he wouldn’t end up snooping anywhere that would make Nat pounce on him from the shadows. A fire was burning in the fireplace, filling the room with warmth. There was no sign of anyone, so he carried everything over to the couch and sat down right by where he’d put down the post-it.

It was still there, which made Steve frown. Why hadn’t Bucky called his agent or lawyers or something? Or, more likely, why hadn’t he had Nat take care of it? Was he not taking the threat seriously?

_“Steve?”_

The shout echoed weirdly, like in a gym, and before Steve could bring himself to either answer or go looking for the source, the darkened french doors in the far corner opened. “Hey, sorry. I was in the kitchen heating water,” Bucky said, carrying in a tray with a couple of steaming mugs.

Steve got to his feet instinctively. “You really don’t need to go to all this trouble, Bucky.” The old nickname slipped out, but Steve kept from correcting himself. Bucky had said he liked it.

“Yeah, but I never _get_ to, and it’s kinda fun. Besides, I should expect trouble from you.” Bucky’s eye gleamed at Steve for an instant before he turned away to start making their drinks.

“Oh, I see. There someone you want me to pick a fight with for you?” Steve teased as he sat back down. He’d had a bad habit of defending Bucky at every turn, whether from jealous fans or over-adoring ones, and somewhere in Steve’s childhood, he’d decided the best defense was a good offense. Unfortunately, most of the time, that meant Bucky had to wade in to rescue him instead.

“Nah, that’s what trained bodyguards are for. Besides, it wasn’t the fighting that made you my friend; it was the fact that you wanted to protect me.” Bucky was still facing away, his hands busy. “Which, it seems, is why you’re here now.” He finally turned around with the two mugs in his hands. As he walked over to the couch, he smiled. “Thanks, friend.”

Steve couldn’t help but feel a little relieved at hearing that. “There are lines most of us cross, but these guys —” He nodded at the post-it. “They’ll do anything for a profit — even sneak onto your property, break into your files, whatever it takes to get the shot. You need to talk to your security people, Buck. And your lawyers. ’Cause even if you stop those pictures, they’ll just be that much more determined to get more.”

“Tenacious fuckers, eh?” Bucky handed over one of the mugs and sat on the couch next to Steve to stare at the post-it on the table. “What sort of lines did they cross? Do you know what’s in the photos?” His voice went hesitant. “Have you seen them?”

“No!” Steve flinched at his own shout as much as he did at the idea. He looked down into his mug and shook his head. “Showing them — even a hint — would diminish their value. They’re just trying to stir up interest. Get people thinking about buying them. All I know...” He took a deep breath and tried to remember how he’d mentally rehearsed this. “They’re nudes, outdoors, and they’re supposedly ‘clearly intimate’, as the guy put it, though not actually... you know.”

Bucky nodded. “In the act. Right, okay.” He nodded his head and took a sip of his drink. “Do you know who the other person is?”

 _There was more than one possibility?_ Steve had to concentrate to get past that thought, because ‘everyone’ knew — and ‘everyone’ was clearly wrong — that James Barnes, child star and war hero, was a ladies’ man. He rarely had the same woman on his arm twice in a row, and this was the first _hint_ that...

Steve tried his drink, and the strength of it shocked him out of his daze. He shook his head and said, “No idea. They probably do. They’ve got an army of college kids who do all their scouting and investigating, including hackers. And they’re all interns, so they’re the ones who are guilty — not the bosses.”

“Right. Well, that gives me a better idea of where they got them from, at least.” Bucky set his drink down, hard. _“Fuck._ That’s disappointing. Discretion means nothing anymore.” He flopped sideways on the couch so he was leaning back, facing Steve, his head on the armrest, his knee pulled up onto the cushion next to Steve’s thigh. “And there really isn’t such a thing as privacy, either, I guess.”

Steve risked one quick glance at him, which was a mistake. The firelight did incredible things to his brown hair, picking out sun-bleached highlights. And his metal hand glowed along the curve of each plate, making the dark spaces between them that much more pronounced. Steve usually preferred soft black and white, but that hand needed to be photographed in stark, realistic detail, with just the right lighting.

_No._

He turned his drink in his hands, appreciating the warmth, though he was wary of taking another sip. He wasn’t much of a drinker. Never had been. And he was _not_ going to get drunk tonight. He didn’t know what would be more stupid — getting drunk and then trying to steer his motorcycle through the deserted, pitch black streets or getting drunk and staying _here_.

“I could find out,” he offered. And _that_ was more stupid than both the previous options combined. At least wrapping his bike around a tree would offer a quick death.

Bucky raised his head to look at Steve, making his arms and stomach muscles go taut. “Find out who’s in the pics or where they got them?”

“Both.” Steve shrugged. “They’re always looking for information. People to scout for them. Sell them pictures. They don’t pay as much as any of the big media outlets, but they pay cash, under the table.”

Bucky was frowning. “Are you saying you would be willing to bring them information in order to get some?”

Steve thought about a few pictures he’d taken this past New Year’s. He’d never sold them because they had not just a couple of currently-hot celebrities but kids — nephews, he thought. Some pictures, he’d managed to crop, but he’d put the rest into a holding folder. But a lot of photographers were more than happy to publish pictures of relatives and kids, even if it was something as silly as going for a walk in the park.

“Yeah,” he finally said, telling himself there was no reason to feel guilty. Chances were good no one would even want to buy the pictures. They weren’t interesting enough to go viral. Hell, Steve had only kept them because of the family feel to them. “I could.”

Bucky’s frown deepened. “That doesn’t sound like you, Steve. I don’t think I can ask you to do that.” He sat up, still facing Steve. “At least, not if it were about someone else...”

“No.” Steve looked over at Bucky. “I’m not giving them _anything_ about you. You’re already in enough trouble.”

“And I refuse to let you throw someone else under the bus for me.” Bucky leaned in slightly. “So where does that leave us now?”

Steve had never been one to back down. “You can’t stop me.”

Bucky was silent for a few seconds, just staring at Steve. “No, but I can be absolutely disappointed in you, and end this association right the fuck now.”

“I’m just trying to protect you,” Steve protested.

“You don’t fucking know me, Steve.” He stood up as if he needed distance. “Fuck you. Do you think I don't _know?_ Do you think that little of me that I wouldn't be damned certain of who was in that photo with me, who took it, and how it got leaked? What the fuck do you take me for?” He started pacing in front of the fireplace.

“I didn’t say —”

“I have spent my whole life being so _fucking_ careful, and you have the audacity to think I allow this sort of indiscretion all the time?” He stopped right in front of Steve, his eyes flashing fire. “And _then_ you figure I’m selfish enough to let someone else suffer for a bit of information I can confirm with one phone call?”

Steve’s self-control nearly broke, and he surged to his feet, snapping, “You wouldn’t even _know_ about this without me. All your _people_ , and you had _no clue_ until I drove out here from Brooklyn, because they wouldn’t even take my calls.”

Bucky paused, and when his voice came again, it was bitter cold. “And I thank you for that. But now you can get the fuck away from me.” He moved toward the corner of the room. “I’ll get you your clothes.”

That hurt more than Steve expected — more than it should have, considering they hadn’t even spoken for fifteen years. But Steve wasn’t going to tell that bastard _anything_ about Bucky. Not even what he could get off Bucky’s damned Wikipedia page. So he put down his mug and picked up his boots. And because he couldn’t ever let anything go, he added, “Thanks for the drink.”

Bucky stared at him, visibly fuming, for what felt like forever. Then he stormed off down a spiral staircase in the corner. Steve let out a breath and clenched his hands around his boots, thinking this couldn’t have gone worse.

Well, no. He could’ve been arrested for harassing Bucky. Steve had made it this far in his career without ever getting a warning or restraining order, but there was always a first time for everything.

So, now he just needed to get out. Get back on his bike and get back to Brooklyn without killing himself. And find out who the hell he could contact to pass along whatever he learned.

It was all of three minutes before Bucky stomped up the stairs, still irate. He walked over to Steve and threw his warm, damp clothes at him, then snapped, “Get out of my house, Steve Rogers. And don’t you dare come back until you’ve come up with a _fucking_ good way to apologize.”

Somehow, despite how his heart was racing, Steve kept calm. No, not _somehow_. It was because this was Bucky, the one person who’d never been able to rouse his temper back before Steve had learned self-control. They’d never fought. Never argued. Hell, they’d never even _disagreed_.

Until now.

And because that temper was still there, buried deep, Steve was tempted to yell right back at him for being a fucking idiot, because he _really_ didn’t know what he was getting into. Even Bucky’s army of lawyers and publicists might not be enough to stop the train wreck that was going to happen in two months, when Bucky kicked off the publicity tour for his next movie.

But they’d be able to slow it down, maybe contain the damage, or at least warn the studio so they were prepared. And that was good enough.

Not that Bucky seemed concerned with any of it. “Keep those fucking clothes you’re wearing. I don’t want them back,” he spat out before storming off downstairs again.

Steve wanted to call him back to fix this — to figure out what had gone wrong — but Bucky was too angry. And deep inside, so was Steve. Maybe Bucky didn’t care that Steve was protecting him, but that wouldn’t change anything.

Instead, he decided to leave now, before Bucky’s anger got the best of him and he called the cops or something. Steve went out to the hallway door, thinking he’d go change, but then he stopped. He probably shouldn’t go wandering around the house unescorted.

“Nat?” he called, hoping like hell that she was around, even though that meant she would’ve heard everything Bucky said.

He wasn’t surprised when she immediately walked into sight. She might play at being a PA, but she held herself like very well-trained security. He’d been just a little intimidated when she’d first let him into the mansion. Now, staring at him with one eyebrow slightly raised, she set off every one of Steve’s alarms.

“I’m” — he looked down at his clothes — “I’m going to go. Is there somewhere I can change?”

“Bathroom’s this way,” she said, leading him not to the guest room but out to the foyer, where she opened the door to a tiny bathroom — tiny for this house, at least.

“Um, before you go... I can’t get any of Bucky’s” — he flinched — “Mr. Barnes’ people to take my calls. I’ll hopefully have some information, though. Can you... Is there someone I can call when I find something out?”

She stared at him, eyes sharp and knowing. “If I say no, you’re just going to come back, aren’t you?”

Steve shrugged. “He doesn’t understand. This... It could really hurt his next movie,” he said, though he was more concerned about hurting _Bucky_. Steve really didn’t give a damn about the movie.

“Get changed,” she said, reaching for the doorknob. “I’ll get you someone’s number.”

Surprised, he met her eyes and asked, “Won’t he be pissed? _More_ pissed?”

“I’m not here to protect his emotions.” She gave Steve the barest nod before she pulled the door shut.

And that made Steve feel better. At least he wasn’t alone in wanting to protect Bucky. Maybe between him and Nat and whoever’s phone number she gave him, they could take care of this without having to bother Bucky anymore.


	3. Chapter 3

**Sunday, April 6, 2014**

As soon as the door to the penthouse suite clicked shut, Jane ducked out from under Bucky’s arm and sagged against the wall. The suite was as dark as anything got in Vegas, which wasn’t very. The floor-to-ceiling windows showed the lights of the Strip, like a captive constellation of stars that never faded.

“My God,” Jane groaned, rubbing at her forehead. “My ears won’t stop ringing. Why is _every nightclub_ so loud?”

“Because there’s not a person in any of them worth talking to. They’re just there to be seen.” Bucky fell sideways onto the couch and kicked his feet up onto the arm, watching as Jane went right for the well-stocked bar. She was the perfect heroine, checking off all of Hollywood’s boxes, these days. Blondes had been out of fashion for a couple of years, so her chestnut hair and warm brown eyes — and her figure — had pushed her to the top of a whole lot of lists. It was a sad truth that her acting ability, which was _far_ better than most people realized, was a secondary consideration.

“So, what’ll it take to get a foot-rub and the truth out of you, Barnes?” she asked, looking slyly back at him over her shoulder. “Scotch, tequila, or are you going to wimp out on me?”

He smiled at her despite himself. “Scotch, God, always scotch. And you know I love your little feet. The truth, on the other hand...”

“In that case, I’m holding the scotch hostage,” she declared, bringing two bottles to the coffee table — scotch and the threatened tequila. She went back to the bar for two glasses, kicked off her deadly heels, and then sat down on the couch, shoving his legs against the back cushions. “You and your creepy fetishes,” she accused fondly, hiking up her skirt to her hips so she could put one foot up on his stomach. “Be glad I love your hands almost as much.”

“Darling, the things I can do with my hands, you have no idea.” She swatted at his thigh as he grabbed hold of her instep and started pressing with his thumbs. “God, it’s been good to see you. I’ve missed this. Do you think they’ll make a sequel so we can get paid to hang out together again?”

“If they do, I hope you like threesomes, because I’ve found someone. And he’s twice your size. In _all_ respects,” she added, throwing a smirk his way. “I’m just supposed to keep it quiet until mid-August, so there’s been lots in the way of sneaking-through-windows. Very romantic for everyone involved, except the hydrangeas.”

Bucky huffed a laugh and smirked as she rolled her eyes. “Ooh, fantastic. I’m so happy for you, babe. Though Nick will be sad. You’ve made his job easy, not having to find ‘suitable female companionship’ for me all the time.” He tugged on her toes and added, “Come on, dish. Tell me about him. Do I know him?”

“Nuh uh.” The firm declaration was ruined by the way she reached out — struggling to keep from pulling her foot out of his hands — to grab the closest bottle. She cracked it open and poured, saying, “You first. You still haven’t told me exactly why we’re even on this pre-pre-publicity whirlwind tour. As in, how did I get saddled with you for almost an entire month? Who’d you piss off?” She leaned forward, heel digging into Bucky’s gut, to offer him the tequila.

“Tequila and I are not friends. We had a falling out the last time I visited you. Or was that in L.A.? I’ll hold out for the scotch.”

She pouted at him, and he took another couple seconds to make her groan as his hands worked the muscles and tendons she’d strained with her damned heels before he gave in. He really did want to tell her; he needed someone to talk to about it, after all. And her analytical brain always helped him see things more clearly.

“Some fucking asshole hacked a supposedly private gmail account and got hold of pictures of me and Clint. You know, the gorgeous one who did all the shouting in the scene with the engineering bay blowing up? He was at my New Year’s party.”

“Oh, fuck. You moron,” she said, downing the contents of her glass before she twisted around to pour his scotch. “Just how _collectible_ were these pictures of you and the oh-so-gorgeous Clint?”

“Other foot,” he prompted. She shifted, and then bent forward with both feet resting on his stomach so she could hand over the scotch. “Revealing but not mid-performance. I mean, they were selfies, which I should have been smarter about. I know. But honestly, we saw each other for a while, and at some point I guess I let my guard down.” He took a large sip of the whisky so he didn’t have to go on.

“Moron,” she repeated, hooking one arm under his legs to counter-balance as she leaned over, almost pulling them both off the couch. Bucky grabbed the back cushions and hung on. Laughing, she refilled her glass, then settled back down, prodding at him with her toes until he resumed the massage one-handed. “So, that explains why we’re playing kissy-face for the cameras now, but that won’t solve the problem of the pictures. Or has Nick put out a hit on whoever’s got them?” She gave a theatrical shudder, adding, “Your agent terrifies me, you know.”

“He’s supposed to have that effect. That’s why I went with him when I got back from the war. And honestly, I don’t want to know how he’s taking care of it. He got the company’s information and the number of my source, and then told me to leave town. Which frankly I was glad to do.”

“Absolutely. Brr,” she said with another shiver. “We fly back tomorrow to New Mexico. Er” — she checked her watch — “today. Are you going back home? Do you need to hide under my bed? I can bring you crackers, if you ignore the overhead creaking once I’m reunited with my One True Love,” she added, pronouncing the capitals with a shark’s grin.

“Oh, God. I’d let you keep me as a pet for as long as you wanted if I wasn’t already headed to a spa in Santa Fe.” Bucky lifted one eyebrow at her. “Especially if it meant I could meet your knight in shining armor.”

“So you could seduce him out from under me? Um, no.” She prodded him with a toe, then kicked her legs off of him and sat up, stretching her back.

“Finally, proof that Jane Foster is a top. I knew it. Or is it just that he’s so big, it’s easier for you to ride him?”

She flashed him a grin. “Unlike some of us, I don’t kiss and tell — _or_ kiss and selfie.” She got to her feet and picked up the tequila. “Will you be able to sleep?”

He wanted to say, ‘please don’t make me’, but then she’d worry and stay up with him. Even though that was what he wanted, he knew it was inconsiderate, and she’d been so marvelous the whole trip. “If you leave the scotch with me, yeah.” If he drank enough, he didn’t dream.

“Barnes...” She sighed and leaned down to kiss the tip of his nose. “Love you, idiot.” She put the tequila down and picked up his scotch instead.

“Love you, too.”

She kept hold of the scotch as she headed for her bedroom. “And don’t try to pick the lock on my door. My PA gave me a taser for my birthday, and I’m just dying to try it out.” She blew him another kiss, then disappeared inside, and the door locked with a _click_.

He knew that she was just being a good friend, not allowing him to drink until he passed out, but the moment he heard the lock catch he desperately wanted to curl up next to her for the night. Another person in the bed always seemed to help. Without that option, the couch would work better than going to his bedroom across the suite.

His sleeping problem was how he’d gotten in this mess in the first place. Clint had been stellar at both wearing him out and cuddling him to sleep. Five weeks straight with no nightmares could mess with a guy’s judgment enough that Bucky had made frequent trips to Toronto for the next eight months to get his fix. And at some point they’d both wanted pictures to fill in the gaps between visits.

 _‘Idiot’_ was right.

 

~~~

 

Santa Fe was nice enough, Bucky supposed, though not under the harsh midday sun, and _certainly_ not after a night of tossing and turning on the couch. He squinted out the window as the car pulled up outside a low adobe building, done up in mud brown and tan. There was a cheerful howling coyote, painted in multi-color zig-zags, outside a rustic looking wood and iron door.

He hated it already.

The driver opened the door a half second before a too-cheery attendant in a snappy polo shirt and khakis said, “Welcome to Agave, Mr. Barnes!”

It was times like these he was glad he didn’t carry a gun around with him anymore. Why hadn’t he gone to a beach resort where they left you alone? He stepped out of the car, leaned over to the kid, and murmured, “I’ll tip you more if you dispense with the ass-kissing.” Then he continued on into the building, where he nearly stepped right into a rectangular reflecting pool set perilously close to the doors. He avoided it with a quick sidestep, glared at the pool that served no purpose — it didn’t even have koi in it — and continued on, before realizing there was no front desk to serve as a destination.

Instead, Mr. Cheerful came over to him and offered him a glossy folder showing a sunset, cacti in silhouette, and _Agave_ written in excited script. “Room key, agenda, in-room dining menu. Will there be anything else, sir?” he asked professionally — and much less cheerfully.

The word _agenda_ sounded ominous. “A bottle of scotch. Oban 14-year, if you can find it. If not, Macallan 12-year will do.” He raised his sunglasses to his forehead to look for a nametag, but didn’t find one. “No offense to the establishment, friend, but I don’t drink tequila.”

“Yes, sir. Your aqua-yoga class starts at three, and your sunset meditation is at quarter past seven, on the west terrace, with a late fireside dinner afterwards.”

“Aqua- _what_ now?” He flicked open the folder and saw easily fifty activities over the next three days — and not just this _sunset meditation_ crap. No, tomorrow morning started at 6:30 with _Greet the sunrise with cockatoos!_ Classes in _Inner Tranquility: rock garden arranging_ and _Nature’s Music: learn to hear the plants sing_. The meals were thematic — _Eat local! A full buffet of native delicacies, including cacti, flowers, and insects_ — and healthy, because there wasn’t anything here about food necessary for life, like french fries or pastrami.

Clearly Nick was trying to kill him.

Bucky snapped the folder shut. “I need to make a phone call.”

Mr. Cheerful nodded and said, “Your suite is down the hall to the left, at the end, past the cactus garden. Enjoy your stay, sir.” Then he disappeared, probably to harass some other guest into properly arranging flowers or balancing desert rocks or something horrible like that.

The moment Bucky got into his suite with the door closed, his phone was at his ear and ringing. He barely waited for Nick to pick up before he launched into a tirade. “What the actual fuck, Nick? You said you wanted me to relax. Did you even look at what they have me doing here? Why am I not on a white sand beach somewhere right now, you overbearing bastard?”

“Glad you’re enjoying your stay there, Barnes. My niece is looking at having her wedding there, assuming she can get her dad to cough up the cash. Let me know how the insect buffet is,” the fucker answered.

“I stopped doing recon for assholes like you years ago, Fury. Seriously, what am I doing here? Either I’m staging a ‘bed-in’ or you can book me a flight home.” He paced across the horrid living room, with a zig-zag-upholstered sofa made of raw pine logs and an adobe fireplace in the corner and vases full of sticks. _Sticks_. What the _fuck_ was he doing here? And worse, pacing didn’t help, which was problematic because Nick tended to have that effect on him.

“ _Or_ you will sit your ass down right this instant, Barnes, and realign your motherfucking chakras until you no longer have the impulse to take group dick-pics in the lead-up to opening fucking night!” ex-Colonel Fury barked.

Bucky opened his mouth to protest, but was still processing Nick’s words several seconds later. Finally his brain caught up. Not to the chakras bit — that was absurd — but to what Nick had actually said. “Photos still giving you trouble, then?”

“Ninety percent settled, so don’t think that you’ve got any wiggle room, Barnes,” Nick said threateningly. “I am handling it, which is my job. _You_ are going to keep your head down and stay out of trouble. Right now, that and breathing are your _only_ jobs. So no drowning yourself in the pool, either. Understand?”

Ninety percent, coming from Fury, was good. Very good. On schedule to be great by the time the press tours started. Bucky sighed, turning the phone away from his mouth just so Nick wouldn’t have the satisfaction of hearing it. “Understood. Nick?”

“Yeah, Barnes?”

“Thank Christ you’re on my side.”

“You better believe it. So don’t piss me off and go puking in the pool. They send the bill for that shit to me, you know.”

God. He hadn’t done that since his first time in New Mexico, or was it L.A.? But it wasn’t time to bicker with the man who was saving his ass in at least twelve different ways. “Yes, sir. You know, you deserve a medal for this, when it’s all over.”

“You know it,” Nick said before he hung up.

Not a medal, a damned big _thank you_ bonus.

Bucky tossed the phone onto the ridiculous sofa and settled for stretching out on the woven rug in front of the fireplace, hoping the scotch would arrive soon so he could sleep through swimming — no, yoga. He’d start playing by the rules tomorrow. Three days of ‘self-care bootcamp’ for Fury, then three days of nothing, then home. He could do this.

 

~~~

 

**Thursday, April 10, 2014**

Bright and early Thursday morning, Steve double-checked every piece of rented gear that he’d signed for yesterday evening. He’d never done anything like this. He was used to working with an assistant — Sam, at the very least, who didn’t know photography but was good with his hands and almost supernatural when it came to finding free power outlets. And here Steve was, alone, all the way across the country from his home territory, surrounded by unfamiliar equipment that was _much_ higher quality than anything he could ever afford.

And people whispered that Nick Fury was a terror to work with? Steve had found him charismatic, funny, and absolutely willing to accommodate Steve’s suggestions — never requests. Hell, he’d even wanted to upgrade Steve’s hotel to the fancy spa where he’d be doing the shoots, but that was pushing things, in Steve’s mind. Sure, the website made the spa look pretty enough, but he didn’t need luxury. He just needed a bed and a really good lock on the door to keep anyone from stealing the rented gear, even though he’d made damned sure it had a solid insurance policy — full replacement, no deductible.

Nick hadn’t blinked at that, either. Just complimented Steve on his forethought and implied that _someone_ — Bucky, surely — never thought ahead that way. Then again, that wasn’t Bucky’s job.

Just thinking about Bucky made Steve’s gut knot up. This was the opportunity of a lifetime, and Steve wasn’t about to screw it up by pissing off his friend-turned... _not_ -friend. He’d just go in, be a professional, and get out with the pictures that could make his career.

Because this was Fury’s way of paying Steve back. He’d offered Steve cash for his information, but Steve had kept turning down the offers, including refusing to answer the door when Fury sent a messenger over to pay him in person. It had been Fury who, exasperated, had suggested a private three-day photoshoot. Sure, Fury’s office had veto power over the final shots, but if Steve managed to get something good enough that they approved... well, James Barnes was about to hit the front page of every magazine and website in America — and Europe, once the film went overseas two weeks after its release in the States.

The royalties alone could change Steve’s life — not to mention what it would do for his reputation.

Steve packed the SUV he’d rented, checked his GPS, then made his careful way to Agave. It was outside Santa Fe proper, up in the mountains. Would that affect the pictures? It shouldn’t, though he’d already noticed the quality of the sunlight was different here. Harsher, with more of a glare. But he could work with that. Harsh light on Bucky’s metal arm, some careful shadows... Bucky had already played the war hero for the cameras right after he’d gotten out of the hospital, but the pictures hadn’t impressed Steve all that much. Now that Bucky was in shape, Steve could do so much more.

Assuming Steve didn’t panic. By the time he pulled up outside the front doors, his heart was racing, and he had to take a couple of deep breaths. Or maybe it was the elevation. Santa Fe was a lot higher than New York City, wasn’t it?

_Focus!_

He opened the door and blinked in surprise at the attendant who was _right there_. “Uh. Steve Rogers, photographer,” he said, realizing he’d forgotten the printout of Fury’s email. Business card. He had a business card, didn’t he?

But before he could get his wallet out of his jacket, the young man said, “Please come in, sir. We’ve been expecting you.”

“Can I get a cart or something for my equipment?”

“We can have it brought around.”

“That’s okay,” Steve said firmly. He wasn’t letting any of his gear out of his sight. He’d even planned an extra hour every day to set up and break down. Insured or not, he’d signed for that gear. It was his responsibility.

That caused no small amount of confusion, though, and it was almost twenty minutes before Steve — _without_ help — loaded the last of the gear onto a luggage cart. Two attendants stayed with him the whole time, hovering like anxious birds, and he finally let them be the ones to push and steer the cart, mostly so he didn’t have to deal with any wobbly wheels. Instead, he walked right beside the most fragile lights, resting his fingertips on the case, just to be safe.

At least the place was nice. Gorgeous, really. The earth tones weren’t perfect for Bucky’s skin color, but the turquoise highlights would bring out his blue eyes nicely. Or had Bucky been tanning? God, that was the last thing Steve needed — Bucky tanned and bleached blond. Steve had packed a makeup kit, but he wasn’t exactly an expert at using it. Usually, someone else handled that for him.

He should’ve planned this out more carefully. Nick had even said to call if there was anything Steve needed, but Steve hadn’t wanted to be any trouble. That was probably a mistake.

They stopped outside a pair of doors, where one of the attendants knocked. Steve had decided to get the unpleasant part out of the way first — private portraits. Photographs in the room and private garden would give Bucky a chance to yell at Steve, get it out of his system. Then they could move to other locations tomorrow, assuming Bucky didn’t manage to have Steve thrown off the property.

The door opened to Bucky in a terrycloth bathrobe, his hair damp and spiky as if just towel-dried. Upon seeing Steve, his eyes went wide as saucers, and then his mouth pressed tightly shut. If the attendants hadn’t started to push the cart into the room, Steve was sure the door would have slammed in his face. Instead, Bucky retreated into the bedroom of what was a frankly massive suite. The door slammed shut, and moments later Steve heard Bucky yelling at Nick.

Apparently, he hadn’t warned Bucky.

 _Wonderful,_ Steve thought, looking at the waiting attendants. “I’ll —” He hesitated, thinking maybe it would be best to have witnesses present in case Bucky threw him out. But that wasn’t fair to Bucky. Besides, Nick would set him straight. Instead, Steve said, “I’ll take care of it. Thank you.”

They left before he could tip them, which saved him the anxiety of trying to figure out how much to give them. Or maybe they’d just wait until later?

_Stop complicating this._

He didn’t need more trouble than he already had. Trying not to listen in — which was hard, given how good Bucky was at projecting — Steve went to search the walls for electrical outlets. He’d give Bucky until everything was set up. That’d be long enough for his temper to cool down at least a little bit. And if not... well, Nick _had_ said to call if Steve needed anything.


	4. Chapter 4

**Thursday, April 10, 2014**

“ _Instrumental?_ Don’t give me that shit, Fury. And this is _not_ what a favor to you looks like. You told me to breathe and stay out of trouble. This is making both of those things very hard to do.”

“You’re yelling, so you’re breathing,” Nick said in a flat voice. “And unless you want to be in _more_ trouble, Barnes, you will hang up this goddamn phone and go _be nice_ to the man who saved your sorry ass and wouldn’t even take a dime in return. Do you understand me, or do I need to find smaller words to get through that thick skull?”

“Fuck you, Nick.” Bucky glanced out the crack in the door and watched Steve carefully assemble an umbrella light, his face focused but showing clear signs of worry. “While you’re searching for words, look up ‘relaxing.’ You’re still getting it wrong.” He hung up and flopped down on the bed to stare at the ceiling.

_Fuck this._

But Bucky could hear Steve moving around out there. He realized Steve had flown across the country to do what he did best. And Fury, for whatever fucking reason, trusted the guy.

Well, Bucky had been waiting a month for an apology. He might as well see if he was going to get one.

Instead of starting off with one, though, Steve asked, “Can you do your own makeup?” He didn’t even look up from the bar, where he was arranging lenses.

“Seriously?” Bucky pulled the robe tighter around himself and re-tied the belt. If Steve was going to treat him like a stranger, this was going to go even worse than Bucky had imagined. “No. Powder, liner, lips. Anything else and I look like a whore.”

Steve looked back at him, taking in his bathrobe. “It’s too cold to start outside. Do you have jeans you can put on? Maybe a solid color T-shirt? Nick sent a wardrobe, but that can wait.”

Bucky leaned on the bar, not even close to getting dressed for Steve. “You two are bff’s now, I hear?”

Steve took a deep breath and opened a flat box. He started rifling through the contents, glancing at Bucky as he said, “Please, Buck. Can we just... do this?”

“Actually, no. I have no desire to do this for you. It’s only because Nick threatened me that I haven’t kicked you out. I told you I didn’t want to see you again until you thought up a good way to apologize, and this” — he gestured at the equipment —  “is not it.”

“I’m not apologizing, because I’m not sorry,” Steve said coolly. He started laying out makeup compacts — all different brands, mostly sample sizes — next to the case. “I’ve never lied to you before. I’m not gonna start now.”

“You implied that I’m stupid, slutty, and selfish at the same time that you revealed yourself to be underhanded and without ethics, and I’m supposed to applaud you for being ‘truthful’?” he demanded, watching as Steve’s movements turned brusque. He wasn’t sorting through the makeup kit now — he was just moving stuff around, the way he used to do with his art pencils, right before he lost it and threw a punch. “Nope, not having it.”

“I never implied any of that,” Steve said, before he took an audible breath through his nose. His jaw was clenched, Bucky knew. “I never _said_ that, either, so don’t try that bullshit.”

Bucky had been sure, back at the house a month ago, that Steve had thought he must be the kind of person that did this sort of thing all the time. And that had fucking hurt — that someone who had once known him so well had apparently been taken in by his tabloid persona. Half of his anger right now was the shadow of that pain, and, as stupidly good as it was to see Steve again, he didn't know if he could get past it. “Look. My long-distance boyfriend and I took some intimate photos to tide us over between visits. That’s it. Okay? I have no fucking clue what you think I get up to, but that was all it was.”

“So?” Steve turned away from the bar and took a couple of steps towards Bucky. “Do you think I care? Hell, I’ve been hired to _take_ those pictures. But I don’t let them get out all over the damned internet, and neither should you.”

“So now it’s _my fault?_ That’s fucking perfect.” Bucky stepped right up to Steve’s face. “You ever take a cute selfie with your girlfriend? Post it on Facebook? Maybe even make it your profile picture. Fifty of your friends like it and say how darling you two are. Fuck you, Steve. My life has _never_ worked that way. And it never will. Ever. Pictures with my loved ones have to be on lockdown. And if someone ferrets them out and shows them to the world it’s _my fault?”_

“I didn’t steal your damned pictures!” Steve snapped. “I’m not your enemy here. I didn’t have to tell you about it _at all_ , except the kid I knew fifteen years ago didn’t deserve to have those pictures all over the place. And you’re bitching at _me_ for _saving your ass?_ ”

“No, I’m furious with you for judging me while you did it.”

“Yeah? What the hell do you care what I think?” Steve demanded. “Big star like you, you shouldn’t give a shit about another fucking photographer.”

“I shouldn’t. But I do.” Bucky turned away and just let himself fall onto the couch, so fucking done with this shit. Steve had absolutely no idea how much this whole situation hurt Bucky. And the way Steve was handling it wasn’t helping.

“Get off the couch.”

Bucky refused to move or turn around. “What the fuck for?”

“Have you seen that couch? Did you even fucking look at it? It’s an awful couch, Bucky. We should burn that fucking couch, and then maybe — _maybe_ — I’d photograph you with the fire as a backdrop.”

Bucky snorted a laugh at Steve’s disgust. He still didn’t get off the couch, though. “I’ve missed you. What the fuck have you been doing for a month? Or do I want to know?”

“Saving your ass,” Steve said.

Bucky was so sick of that phrase he could puke, and it made him angry enough that he refused to respond. He heard the rattle of plastic, followed by footsteps.

Steve leaned over the back of the couch — not smiling, but no longer glaring, either. “Are you getting up, or am I doing your makeup here?”

Bucky raised his chin and closed his eyes. “Here. Maybe if you spill enough makeup on it, you can disguise its hideousness.”

“Fire. Nothing less,” Steve said, flattening a hand on Bucky’s chest. The press of his weight drove the air from Bucky’s lungs — not that Bucky could breathe, once Steve pushed his chin up even more. “Good. You haven’t been stupid enough to lie out in the sun.”

Bucky pulled his chin free of Steve’s grasp. “I’m serious, Steve. Don’t touch me with anything more than powder, eyeliner, and lip stuff. And the third one’s optional, depending on how close up you want to get.”

Steve made a thoughtful sound and looked down at where his hand was still resting on Bucky’s chest. “You did a photo spread showing your arm. Would you rather keep it hidden?” he asked gently.

“That was mostly for Tony. He was — is — so proud of the tech, and when we finally got it right, I felt kinda invincible for a while. But they have me sleeveless in the movie, so I guess whatever...” Bucky looked up at Steve’s face, wondering how well he would take it. Where the metal plates met scar tissue wasn’t pretty. “Did you wanna see?”

“Only if you’re comfortable.” Steve pulled his hand back and braced against the back of the couch. “For now, blue jeans. Ripped, if you have them. If not, there might be some in your wardrobe,” he said, gesturing at the luggage cart, now stacked high with empty equipment boxes. Four garment bags were hanging from the top bar. “I’ll leave the shirt up to you.”

“No, here, have a look.” Bucky knelt up on the couch, his hips against the back cushion, and pulled off the robe.

Despite the scarring around the edge of the cybernetic implant, Steve didn’t recoil — nor did he go poking at Bucky’s arm. He studied the arm with narrowed eyes, head tilted, then turned to look at Bucky’s flesh and blood right arm, as if comparing the two. “You’ve done a good job keeping the muscle definition even,” he said, taking a step back, eyes fixed to Bucky’s chest. “Turn around?”

Bucky hesitated for a second. He’d mostly shown the arm off to make Steve uncomfortable, and somehow _he_ was the one feeling off-kilter. Like he was being examined as a specimen instead of as a — well, as a sex object. His image had been tailored to emphasize his body, and enough photographers had stared at him in the recent past, but none in the analytical way Steve did, as if he were thinking of nothing but composition. Bucky should have felt relieved that he was finally working with someone who conducted things professionally. He didn’t.

He did, however, turn around for Steve. Which meant standing up off the couch and submitting to examination in just his underwear. Bucky could only endure a few moments of silence before speaking. “So?”

“Thank God you’re alive,” Steve said quietly.

That hit Bucky right in the chest. All the moments in the past few years that he’d thought the same thing, or sometimes the opposite, rushed through him at once, threatening to drown him. He closed his eyes tight and took a deep breath to push the memories back down. Because that sentiment was all that mattered. The narrow misses were all in the past. He was alive.

“Every day.”

“Can I — Just —” Steve’s fingers brushed over Bucky’s hair, pulling the strands up, away from his nape. Bucky kept his hair short, but the back was just long enough to hide the scar that Steve uncovered — the scar he couldn’t have known was there. Steve let out a shaky breath, then smoothed the hair back in place. “Jeans. Go,” he said, walking away from the couch.

Bucky couldn’t move right away. The ghost of Steve’s hand on his neck — on the scar — made him shiver.

_Fuck._

When he did, it was to turn around with the question out of his mouth before his brain caught up. “How did you know?”

Steve was again at the bar, putting some of the cosmetics back in the box, taking out others. “The video,” he said softly. “I — I kept watching it, until I was _positive_ you were still alive at the end. There are a couple of frames where you can see you’re still breathing.”

The video. Bucky had never watched it. All he remembered of it being made was that it was night when his captors dragged him, bound, into the room, and the camera light was bright as it reflected off the sword they held above him. He remembered fighting like a caged beast. How the screams torn from his throat when they grabbed his ruined arm had sounded inhuman. Panic and pain and lashing out, and then blackness.

Waking up from that had been a revelation. He hadn’t registered the small cut on the back of his neck or put together how it had come to be there until later.

He’d never thought that his kidnappers had actually _made_ a video. He’d figured the camera was just there to scare him. And he’d certainly never imagined that they’d released it. Evidently they had. And it had apparently hit the media and probably gone viral.

Of course it had. Child star turned war hero turned fucking POW. Bucky had never thought to search YouTube or anything, and the counselors in the hospital — the ones who’d taught him to look at his lost arm as a small price to pay for _surviving_ — had suggested that he should take it easy, reading news accounts. He’d gone a step further and never looked for any of it at all. Instead, he’d focused on the future. On physical therapy and the arm built by Stark, that mad genius, and on his career.

But Steve had watched the video. A lot.

_Fuck._

_How fucking awful._

Bucky’s brain shut down at the idea of his old friend scrounging for evidence that he was alive. “Jeans,” he said, then went to the bedroom to find something to wear.

 

~~~

 

 _Stupid idiot,_ Steve scolded himself, wondering how the hell he was supposed to fix this sudden dark turn. He shouldn’t have mentioned the video, but he’d wanted to see the healed scar for himself — to see proof that Bucky had _survived_. As if having him right there wasn’t proof enough?

No. He’d needed something he could think about every time he remembered that damned video — a visual that could overwrite those hours when he’d been rewinding and zooming and analyzing the video, frame-by-frame, terrified that his old childhood friend was dead.

And all he’d managed to do was make a tense, awkward situation that much worse.

So much for the idea of getting happy, relaxed shots of Bucky. He’d be lucky if Bucky didn’t try to pull a Sean Penn and attack him.

_Plan B._

He’d already thought about how to handle Bucky if he got stubborn. Bucky wasn’t just a celebrity. He was a war hero, an icon for disabled vets and sci-fi buffs alike, with his cybernetic arm. In violation of every FDA rule, he had let the insane billionaire, Tony Stark, experiment on him, and his recovery had been miraculous. So Steve could easily go the dark route, and play on Bucky’s military history. It’d be thematic with his upcoming movie, too.

So he ditched most of the cosmetics he’d picked and instead went for the camo facepaint grease that he’d thrown in at the last moment, along with a compact of redness concealer powder. Then he started moving furniture.

By the time Bucky came out a few minutes later, Steve had cleared most of the furniture out of one corner of the room. Camel-colored walls with a rounded corner, terracotta floor tiles... Steve could work with it.

Bucky was barefoot, in jeans and a dark red and grey striped sweater. Steve looked him over, feeling another twinge of guilt. He wanted to tell Bucky to forget the pictures — to try and get Bucky to talk, or maybe to just leave Bucky alone, since he obviously didn’t want Steve here — but professionalism won out. Maybe he could distract Bucky with business.

“You’ll be warm enough to start outside, if you’d rather,” Steve offered.

“Wherever you want me, boss.” Bucky’s body language was closed but his tone of voice wasn’t defensive. His arms looked like they were crossed to comfort him more than anything, and Steve had the irrational urge to offer him a hug.

Instead, he said, “Then we’ll wait a couple hours before we move outside.” He shoved the camo paint into one pocket and brought the concealer over to where Bucky was standing. “Eyes closed. I’m going to go light with this. Your skin doesn’t need much.”

Bucky complied wordlessly, his eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks. His breathing was shallow but he didn’t seem tense to be so close to Steve. With a light touch, Steve dusted pale powder over Bucky’s face, then used his thumb to brush the powder off Bucky’s eyebrows, lashes, and lips.

“You still bite your lip, don’t you?” Steve asked, pulling his hand back before he could touch a little raw spot on Bucky’s lower lip, where it looked like he’d bitten down recently, probably while getting dressed.

“Yeah.” The word was more a sigh than anything, and the breath of it reached Steve’s knuckles. Bucky kept his eyes closed as he continued. “That’s why I hate lip stuff.”

“Bite all you want. I’m not looking for anything artificial.” Steve let out a little laugh. “Just pretend I’m a wildlife photographer. Go kill and eat an antelope or something.”

Bucky opened his eyes and furrowed his brow as he smiled faintly. “I feel more like the antelope right now.”

“There’s an idea,” Steve said, heading for the private garden. It had a rock patio with a sweeping, curved edge and a little patch of grass, still damp from the sprinklers. While the plants edging the walls wouldn’t qualify as lush, there was enough greenery to drown out the ever-present _brown_.

Steve knelt down on the patio, then sprawled on his stomach, looking into the grass. He had to shift around to find a good angle so the walls weren’t casting unwanted shadows, but he finally got back to his feet.

He went back inside and waved Bucky towards the door. “Changed my mind. Outside. Right there,” he said, pointing to a sunny spot in the grass as he went to set up the right camera lenses.

Bucky shot him a questioning look but didn’t answer. Instead, he went out into the garden and lay down in the grass, stretching on his back in the sun like a cat. Steve got his equipment ready and tried to clear his mind. He had to _not_ think about the video, how angry Bucky had been last month, or even how angry he’d been just this morning.

Once Steve felt more calm, he went outside and took a couple of quick pictures so he could check how they looked. The camera had a great screen, which meant he wouldn’t have to dump everything onto his laptop to see details. God, what he wouldn’t give to have this type of camera all the time.

The makeup was a little pale, but that was okay. He could play with the color balance later, if necessary. Maybe he wouldn’t. He didn’t want Bucky to look perfect. He wanted Bucky to look real. _Alive_.

“Hey, Buck?” he called as he lifted the camera again.

“Yeah?” Bucky had his hands behind his head, and he did a crunch to raise up and look at Steve.

“I know I’m supposed to say something inspiring here, but if I tell you to _be the antelope_ , are you gonna start bouncing around the yard on all fours? If so, I’ll have to switch lenses.”

“No, I’m gonna laugh in your face and stay right here in the grass where you put me. Take a fucking picture already.”

As sincerely as possible — and Steve was _very_ good at sincerity, or so he’d been told — Steve said, _“Be the antelope.”_

Bucky’s face broke into a wide, open-mouthed grin as he said, “Fuck you, Rogers,” and rested his head back on his hands to look up at the sky. And Steve managed to capture every second of it.

First genuine smile. Steve decided to count that as a win.

 

~~~

 

By the time they moved back inside, Steve felt a little more relaxed, and Bucky... well, if he wasn’t back to himself, at least he wasn’t subtly fighting Steve at every step. Worried about data loss, Steve set up the memory card reader to transfer everything onto his external hard drive, then went to where Bucky was making coffee.

“How attached are you to that sweater?” Steve asked, trying not to blatantly sniff the coffee. It smelled like heaven. He’d had one cup of significantly worse hotel room coffee that morning, and that wasn’t nearly enough.

Bucky set down his cup and, in one fluid motion, stripped off the sweater and held it out to Steve.

“Okay,” Steve said, laughing. “Mind if I make some alterations?”

Bucky squinted at the sweater for a second, biting his lip, then shook his head. “Nope. I have another one in blue and grey. And maybe one in green. What do you have in mind?”

“Scissors. Maybe fire,” Steve said, taking the sweater back over to the luggage cart in the corner. “You do know there’s such a thing as _too_ adorable, don’t you?”

Frowning dramatically, Bucky followed as if curious. “Pretty sure my first couple million proved you wrong.”

“You weren’t even a year old at the time. You’re a grown man now,” Steve said, making the mistake of looking over at Bucky. Because yes, he _definitely_ had grown, and Steve absolutely didn’t need to distract himself that way — not after they’d come to an uneasy truce. He found a lighter and the EMT shears he always carried, then went for the patio doors. The last thing he needed was to _actually_ light the suite on fire, no matter how much he’d threatened the sofa.

Bucky leaned against the patio doors to watch him, one eyebrow cocked and eyes focused on the shears. Steve spread out the sweater on the patio table, then started cutting small holes through the front layer of wool — not too many, and not evenly. He wanted it to look ragged and natural, rather than planned, but he’d done this before, when shooting zombies. He cut off part of one cuff, added more holes in the arms, nicked the collar, and then switched out the shears for his lighter.

Bucky moved closer to watch, but kept silent as he alternately sipped his coffee and bit his lip. Steve carefully singed some of the cut strands, then scorched additional holes. Twice, he had to smother the flames before they got out of hand, but eventually he had the sweater looking suitably post-apocalyptic.

He held it up and shook out the scorched, fraying threads. After examining it critically, he pulled at the collar, stretching it, then stretched the weave in a couple of other spots. Then he offered it to Bucky. “Put that on. Then I’ll do your makeup.”

A response came while Bucky’s head was still inside the sweater. “I know I checked out for a bit earlier, but are you really gonna turn me into a zombie?” When his face appeared he was looking at Steve skeptically, and it was hard to tell if he was incredulous or joking.

“I’m not that good with latex. But I can make you into the thing zombies fear,” Steve said, looking critically at the sweater. He probably should’ve done more damage, but it was easier to add rips than to fix them. He took the camo paint out of his pocket and said, “Chin up, eyes closed.”

“Yes, sir.” Bucky obliged with his eyebrows high up his forehead, but there was a smirk around his bitten lips.

“So the Army _was_ a good influence,” Steve muttered as he coated his fingers with the dark charcoal. He rubbed his thumb over his fingertips, spreading it out evenly, then started dabbing at Bucky’s eyes, focusing just above and below his eyelashes.

“ _Good_ is debatable, but certain habits stick,” Bucky murmured, keeping the top half of his face completely still. Steve laughed, cleaned most of the grease off on his own jeans — a bad habit, but one he’d never been able to break — and then started fanning out the color to darken Bucky’s eye sockets.

“Open for a sec,” he prompted, and then grinned when Bucky opened his eyes. The dark coloring made his eyes glow from within, bringing out the light blue in a way that made his irises almost translucent. “Perfect. Close,” he said, going back to feathering the color. “And feel free to bite your lip all you want.”

“Couldn’t stop if I tried. Like I said, certain habits...” Bucky smiled and very deliberately opened his mouth in order to bite down on his lip, teeth showing their indentations in the red flesh.

Steve had to tell himself not to stare. He stepped back, looking around the room for inspiration. “You still chew on pencils?” he asked, remembering how he used to yell at Bucky for stealing his art pencils and chewing on the ends — though he’d never _really_ been mad. It was just one more thing Bucky did only with him.

“Who uses pencils anymore? My pens are a wreck, though. Nat returns all the bitten ones to my side of the house and then gets exasperated when she has to buy new ones for herself.”

Steve had no right to be jealous, and he told himself that as he turned his back and went to sort through the wardrobe bags. Pens and pencils weren’t very dangerous, and he didn’t want Bucky to look like an insane artist. Apparently, that was Steve’s job today.

“What else? A knife will make you look like a sociopath,” Steve muttered more to himself than to Bucky. In this age of computers, what did people fidget with?

“There was a short time where I would suck on a razor blade, speaking of sociopaths...”

“You _what?_ ” Steve demanded, dropping the bag to glare at Bucky.

“Something to put in my mouth. It was the nineties. I was very broody. Now it’s mostly my dogtags. Same feel with none of the danger.” Bucky touched his neck as if missing them. “And they’re _usually_ always at hand.” He wandered off to the bedroom, presumably to find the tags.

Steve went to the kitchenette to pour himself a cup of coffee, and to hell with not being invited to do so. He needed to _not_ think about Bucky going through a broody, self-destructive phase. With the hindsight of an adult, Steve realized that Bucky had probably been alone for most of his life — surrounded by caretakers and managers, but without any real _friends_.

But back during camp, Steve had been too nervous to do more than write a couple of letters that Bucky never answered, so Steve had eventually stopped sending them. He’d been content to be Bucky’s friend during their shared summers, until Bucky outgrew camp. Steve had gone for one more year, but he hadn’t regretted being too old to go back after that. Without Bucky, camp hadn’t been the same.

He heard Bucky come back into the room, and immediately dumped an extra spoonful of sugar into his coffee, because he wasn’t thinking straight. “Can you close the blinds?” he asked without looking back at Bucky. “I’m going to move the lights to one side, to catch your arm through the wool, and leave just enough in front that you don’t look completely undead.”

Steve could hear the rustle of the blinds, and a minute later Bucky was leaning against the bar, all too close. “Not _completely_ , but you went all out on the eyeshadow.”

It was easier for Steve to dart a couple of quick looks Bucky’s way, taking in the sight one bit at a time. The sweater was tight and thin enough that it didn’t cast Bucky’s muscular body into shadow. Once the lights were just right, the metal arm would glow under the weave. And his eyes... Maybe Steve _had_ gone overboard, but the dark shadow really did make Bucky’s eyes stand out. Hell, Steve could strip Bucky naked, and his eyes would be the first thing anyone noticed.

“Did you see?” Steve asked, not even realizing the question made no sense until the words were out. “The contrast, I mean. Your eyes.”

“They look washed out and grey to me, but I figured that’s what you were going for.” He smiled, then noticed the cup in Steve’s hand. “Shit. Coffee. I forgot to offer you some. I’m sorry.”

“I know you don’t —” Steve stopped himself before finishing _‘want me here’._ He shook his head and said the first thing that came to mind: “You usually have other people to do that. It’s fine. And they’re not washed out. You’ll see.”

“I know how to be a host, for Christ’s sake. It’s just... you don’t feel like a guest. Probably because you aren’t some polite stranger, like most photographers.”

Steve huffed and looked down into his coffee. “No, I’m the _impolite_ near-stranger who wrecked a sweater you like enough that you bought it in three different colors.” He glanced at Bucky again, though this time his gaze caught on the dog tags. There were two, one hanging from a long chain, the other hanging from a shorter loop suspended beside the first. The one on the shorter loop lacked the faded black rubber edging that the first one had. He couldn’t help but reach out to touch the bare tag.

“Politeness is boring.” Bucky’s voice was quiet when he spoke, but then he paused and laughed softly before speaking again. “And I fucking _know_ you.”

 _I’m still not sorry,_ Steve thought, though he wasn’t stupid enough to come out and say it. Instead, he nodded towards the bare corner of the room and said, “Then you won’t have any trouble convincing me you’re the thing that monsters fear. But if you growl and paw at the camera, I _will_ throw cat toys at you. Don’t test me, Bucky.”

That got him an eye-roll and a smirk as Bucky walked over to the corner, where he leaned against the wall. For a moment, he looked like he wanted to curl up and hide.

But when Steve picked up the camera, Bucky’s demeanor shifted, and some feral quality came into him, stretching itself through his limbs. He exuded menace, and he actually did snarl at Steve when he got really close up. At least once, Steve thought Bucky was going to break the chain around his neck, as he bit down on one dogtag and tugged on the other with his fist, stretching the ball-chains taut.

The whole time, Steve had to concentrate to keep taking pictures instead of responding to the challenge in Bucky’s body language. Fifteen years had done nothing to dampen the crush he’d once had, and even those brief minutes spent together a month ago hadn’t prepared him for this. All he wanted was to drop the camera and crowd Bucky into the corner —

And he was _not_ going to think about that. Biting back a snarl of his own, he kept taking pictures, silently deciding that after he finished this set, he’d find some much more sedate poses instead.


	5. Chapter 5

**Thursday, April 10, 2014**

“Your office has veto powers on all these photos,” Steve said, turning his back after about fifteen minutes of Bucky snarling at the camera, which had been enough time for him to get past his anger and hurt and start to enjoy this game. Because that was what it felt like, with Steve. But now Steve was back to fussing with his laptop, avoiding looking in Bucky’s direction.

“You know. In case you were self-conscious about this.”

Steve was acting like a stranger again, which was jarring when he’d been so engaged moments before. Maybe there had to be a camera between them for Steve to connect with him — probably something to do with needing a safe distance. By this point it had been made clear that Steve was uncomfortable with Bucky’s emotions and only showed any of his own if they fell into the anger/frustration category. Standard hetero male performance of masculinity. Bucky shouldn’t have been so disappointed by that, but he was.

“Nick mentioned that when I called.” _When I was inches away from throwing you out, even after spending a month missing you._ “It’s kinda freeing. We can fuck around and do whatever, and throw everything out if it doesn’t work.”

Steve glanced back at Bucky, meeting his eyes for only a second before looking down at the damaged sweater. “You don’t mind continuing this” — he gestured awkwardly, turning back to the laptop — “theme?”

“The Freddy Krueger meets _Night of the Living Dead_ theme?”

Steve laughed, looking back just long enough for Bucky to catch sight of that amazing smile, which made him catch his breath. “Yeah.”

“No, I guess not. Whatever you want, boss. It’s your dime.” This whole morning had already been so unexpected, he might as well see what else Steve came up with.

That made Steve go for his makeup kit as he muttered, “Let’s see if I remember how to do this. I didn’t make it to the Zombie Walk in time to see most of the makeup. Just the shambling and screaming.” It looked like he was collecting lip liner pencils in shades of pink.

“Oh, God, I was kidding about Freddy Krueger.” Bucky edged closer to Steve, curious. “What are you gonna do?”

“Just... scratches,” Steve said uncertainly, no longer poking through the box. “Nothing to your face. God, that’d be criminal. But it’s fine. I’d probably get it wrong anyway. Drawing on people isn’t exactly the same as in a sketchbook.”

“Where, on my hands?” He held them out to Steve, not wanting to see him retreat again.

Steve shook his head. “Wherever the sweater’s ripped. Maybe open up some of the rips even more. Make it look like it actually got down to hand-to-hand.”

“Oh, fuck. That’s hot.” It came out before Bucky thought to stop himself, which he instantly regretted. He didn’t want to make Steve think any less of him than he already did.

Back turned again, Steve let out a breath before asking, “Want to give it a shot, then? I can at least try drawing one.”

Bucky hated himself for it, but he wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity to have Steve up close and touching him, even if it was just with a pencil. The majority of his anger had dissipated in the shock of Steve’s fingers on his scar, and now he just craved more contact. “Sure, yeah. I’ll try anything once.”

Steve shot Bucky a quick grin, saying, “Thought you learned your lesson after I dared you to eat that ant.”

Bucky smiled, both at the memory, and at the fact that Steve brought it up. “I learned that I never wanted to eat an ant again. But the look on your face was definitely worth doing it that one time.”

“Yeah, well, this doesn’t exactly prove you’ve outgrown your stupid,” Steve accused warmly as he crouched down in front of Bucky. He put the pencils down on the floor, then used one to poke a small dot against Bucky’s stomach, through one of the rips in the sweater.

Steve on the floor in front of him like that hit Bucky hard, low in the gut, and made him back up to get distance for a second before he did something irretrievably stupid. “Tickled,” he lied, by way of explanation.

“If that’s how you’re gonna be, we can do this on the floor so I can hold you down,” Steve threatened, looking up at Bucky.

_Fuck._

_Not helping._

Steve’s upturned face showed off the angles of his cheekbones and the lushness of his lips and eyelashes, and it was absolutely unfair that no one ever turned a camera on _him._ There was nothing for it but for Bucky to lie down in front of Steve, hoping to God he could keep his body in check that way.

Steve knelt back, looking down at Bucky’s body for a few long, silent seconds before meeting his eyes. Then he deliberately flattened his left hand on Bucky’s sternum, pressing just hard enough that Bucky had to concentrate to breathe. Steve drew a quick, short line through one of the rips, then pulled up the sweater, baring Bucky’s abdomen.

“At least you’d be believable, as a zombie killer,” Steve said, staring so intently that Bucky could almost feel heat on his skin. “You stayed in shape, after getting out of the army.”

“Have to. My shoulder muscles have to be strong enough to bear the load of my arm. It’s not solid metal, but it’s not light.” Bucky took a deep breath, making Steve let up on his chest for a second to accommodate. “Also, action hero. Or at least that’s where Nick is looking to slot me these days. Getting a little old for the boy next door.”

“If you weren’t so cute, I’d accuse you of digging for compliments. Asshole.” Steve turned so he was kneeling up against Bucky’s leg. He picked up one of the pencils and rested the soft, rounded point on the spot he’d made earlier. “Now hold still.”

_Cute? What the fuck was that?_

What Steve had said was a compliment, an accusation, and an insult all rolled into one. Bucky wasn’t surprised by the formula — it felt familiar — but the word ‘cute’ threw him off. Mostly because he wasn’t sure he wanted to be cute to Steve. A lot of other things, but cute might not be one of them. Not any more, at least.

“Action hero, Steve. Not cute.”

Steve huffed. “I’ve seen you after getting into a fight with acrylic paints. _Cute_ , Bucky,” he said, dropping the pencil on Bucky’s abdomen. It rolled down to the waistband of his jeans. Steve unbuttoned his left shirt cuff and tugged the fabric up.

“I was fifteen, I was supposed to be cute back then...” Bucky trailed off, watching as Steve curled his right hand over the inside of his wrist. He scratched down, hard and fast. “Whoa.” Bucky wasn’t sure if his reaction was to the fact that Steve had such beautifully defined forearms, or because he’d just raised welts all down the inside of one of them. “Didn’t that hurt?”

“Not particularly. But” — Steve turned his arm so Bucky could see the pink lines scored over his skin — “now I have a reference.” He picked up the liner pencil, and Bucky had a hard time suppressing his shiver at the feel of Steve’s fingers brushing his waistband and the skin just above it. He tried to pass it off as a flinch, and thankfully, Steve didn’t seem to notice. He compared the pencil to the welt on his forearm, then discarded it in favor of a darker one. “Dark in the middle, with the translucent white on the outside edges. Red spots to show blood welled up under the skin. If I had time, I’d experiment with blue and gray shadow to bring up bruises, but I’d probably screw it up.”

For a couple of illuminating seconds, Bucky had to remind himself that he didn’t actually want bruises and welts on his skin, even if they were from Steve. Not a good idea for so many reasons, not least of which had to do with his treatment as a POW. Besides, Steve having to draw them would take a lot longer than scratching and biting, so Bucky consoled himself with the fact that this way, he could lie there under Steve’s hands, soaking up his focus for a while longer.

“Take your time. I’m not going anywhere.”

Steve huffed in amusement as he started dragging the pencil down Bucky’s abdomen. “You’d never make it to your feet, much less out the door.” He tugged the sweater back in place to check his work, then pulled it back up so he could keep drawing. Then he trapped the pencil in his teeth so he could set his fingertips to Bucky’s abdomen as if testing the spacing of his lines. Bucky could just barely feel fingernails that weren’t cut short enough.

Bucky had to close his eyes to the image of Steve biting down on a pencil like a bit, but that meant no distraction from the feel of his nails poised and ready on Bucky’s stomach.

_Fuck._

How was everything so unfairly hot at the moment? Bucky concentrated on his breathing until the pressure let up on his skin and then came back in the form of a single point, which meant it was safe to open his eyes. He realized he’d been biting his lip pretty hard, so he reached up —

Steve caught his wrist left-handed, fingers wrapping tight around the bones. “Don’t.”

Bucky had an instant of panic before he remembered Steve wouldn’t hurt him. “Jesus. Don’t what?”

Steve let go with a blink, as if surprised at himself. “Your lip’s bleeding. Leave it. I can’t accurately recreate that. I’m not that good with makeup.”

“Okay. Fine. I just wanted to...” His hand continued its path to his neck, where it brought one of the dogtags to his mouth. He bit down on one corner, on the side of his mouth away from the bleeding, and then spoke around it. “Planning on holding me hostage, Rogers?”

“You know that story about that one director who pissed you off, and Fury made him, his two assistants, and the lead photographer all cry?” Steve asked with a sheepish grin as he went back to drawing lines.

“I love that story. It’s mostly true, too.” Bucky couldn’t stop watching Steve’s face as he concentrated on his work. At least now he didn’t have to pretend to be drawing something of his own, like he’d had to at camp.

“Exactly. He was nice enough to me, but he’s got a terrifying reputation. I’m not about to cross him, even —” Steve shut his mouth and shook his head, switching the dark pink pencil for a white one. “Hold still. I have to edge these. Hopefully they’ll look three-dimensional and not like you got into a crayon fight.”

“They’ll look great. And it was Nick who set up this fucking shoot. How long does he have you here for, the whole three days? Talk about a Fury-approved hostage situation.”

“My hotel’s almost an hour away,” Steve said with a laugh. “You’re free whenever I get bored of you for the night.”

_Please don’t ever get bored. How do I keep you from getting bored?_

“Well, that’s idiotic. You should just stay here.”

Steve gave Bucky a wry smile, meeting his eyes for a quick moment. “Only one of us is the celebrity here, Buck. I’m fine where I am. Really. Nick offered, but he’s done too much already.”

“What does being a celebrity have to do with it? And what’s the point of having such a fucking huge suite if I can’t have guests stay?” The moment after he spoke, he realized that Steve had been talking about staying in his own room at the spa, and Bucky was talking about Steve staying with him. Which made him feel fucking awkward. Scrabbling to cover up his gaffe, he hit upon a logistics angle. “Besides, this way we can leave all the equipment set up and save you the trouble of carting it around.”

Steve sat back, giving Bucky a look that would’ve been exasperated, even irritated, if not for the way his lips twitched up in a smile. “Do you know how long I dodged Fury’s calls? His emails? The messengers he sent to stalk me? The photographs are _all_ I’d accept, and only because some of your previous photoshoots have been absolute shit, and I _know_ I can do better for you.”

“You know _I’m_ not trying to reward you for whatever you’ve done, Steve. I just thought it’d be nice if you stayed here with me.” Before Steve could say anything, Bucky continued, “You could have the bed, since I don’t have the same aversion to the couch that you do.”

Steve laughed, looking down again, not quite hiding the way his cheeks flushed. “The couch is evil, Bucky. The couch wants to eat your soul or something. And I’m not going to be the one to tell Fury that his favorite star got killed by the damned furniture here.” He drew another line on Bucky’s stomach, then tugged the sweater down again, so he could start a new grouping of scratches. “Besides, I’m not apologizing. I don’t care if you’re mad at me. I wanted to protect you.”

“Have I asked you to apologize, asshole?” Bucky’s voice was teasing enough to get a smirk from Steve as he continued his work. A moment later, though, Bucky set all joking aside. “What did you do, anyway? To protect me?” He wasn’t sure he wanted to know, but Steve was so adamant about needing to have done it and Nick had said Steve was integral to the process, so maybe Bucky could forgive him if he knew the whole story.

“I got the login info for one of their cloud storage sites. Fury’s people were able to find everything he had stored there. They used —” Steve cut off, frowning at Bucky. “I’m pretty sure none of it’s legal, what they did. You probably don’t want to know.”

“Plausible deniability. Fine. But your part in it. How did you get the login?”

“I talked up some pictures I took last winter. Nothing really special — nothing even questionable, really. I made them sound like they were more, though.” Steve shrugged and touched his fingernails to Bucky’s abdomen again, this time right under his ribs. He moved his hand around, trying to find a good angle. “As soon as the guy I was talking to was interested, he wanted to see one, so he gave me the login.”

Bucky slowed his breath to keep it under control. “Did you look at what was in there?” He weirdly had no qualms with the idea of Steve seeing the pictures of him and Clint. Not on _his_ end, anyway. He was just nervous about what Steve’s reaction to them might have been.

“I was too careful for that. I couldn’t risk it pointing back to you.” Steve leaned against Bucky’s hip so he could draw the next few lines at a sharp angle. “Nick did... something widespread. It killed _all_ of their pictures — and all their interns and contractors and everyone in their network. That way it couldn’t be traced back to either of us.”

Bucky nodded, wondering about the prospect of other copies saved elsewhere. That must have been the ten percent Nick was still working on. “Thanks, Steve. I mean it.”

Steve sighed and stared at Bucky’s abdomen without drawing. “This might sound weird, but print’s safer. Nobody’s going to break into your house to steal physical pictures. You can’t keep electronic copies like that — not these days. I can help you find a good photo printer, if you want. God knows you can probably afford it,” he added with a laugh.

“Yeah, okay. I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks,” Bucky said as Steve went back to drawing.

For the first time, Bucky felt genuine gratitude, untempered by assumptions or, well, misunderstandings. Steve really had been watching out for him, just like back in summer camp. The thought warmed him straight through, especially because Steve didn’t want anything. Hell, even these pictures would benefit them both, assuming Bucky didn’t come out looking like an ass. He doubted that would happen, though. Steve had a focused, professional competence about him that was incredibly reassuring — which made Bucky’s desire to keep Steve close even stronger.

“You know, if we asked them to bring in another bed, we could get them to take the couch away altogether. I feel as if I owe you some gesture of thanks, and I can’t think of anything you’d like more at the moment.”

Steve shot Bucky another breath-stealing grin. “More than ritual sacrifice of the couch? I _do_ want to photograph you by firelight, even though it can be tricky...”

“Great, you can do that tonight, when you stay over.” Bucky needed to stop pushing for this; he didn’t even know why he wanted it so much. Steve was clearly not interested in anything more than catching up and taking pictures. And Bucky had no logical reason to want him close. Maybe it was just the idea of recreating camp for a bit. “And not that I couldn’t afford to wreck the couch, monetarily, but let’s try to keep my reputation at least somewhat less destructive so Nick doesn’t rip us both to shreds when we get home.”

Steve gave an exaggerated shrug. “I am _never_ crossing him. Ever. But if you’re gonna be a pain in the ass about it, okay,” he said, smiling as he kept drawing lines. “I didn’t get a chance to scout yesterday. Is there an In  & Out Burger around here?”

Bucky blinked a few times at the non sequitur. “What? Why?” He caught up to everything Steve said — or didn’t quite say — a little late, maybe from controlling his breath so Steve could draw. “And what does ‘okay’ mean?”

“Okay means okay. I’ll stay. _But_ I promised Sam I’d go to In  & Out for him, if we can find one. It’s apparently a West Coast thing. Supposedly the burgers are better than the ones at Five Guys or Shake Shack, but I dunno...” Steve shook his head and tugged Bucky’s sweater back down. “I’m going to have to rip this more, I think.”

_Who the fuck is Sam? His friend? His boyfriend?_

If the latter was the case, that changed things. Not so much to do with what was allowed, if they were exclusive, but just in how Bucky felt about, well, everything. Getting judged for this whole photo debacle by a fellow queer person was totally different than by a straight one. Fuck, just the prospect of a queer friend was a welcome novelty.

_Don’t get ahead of yourself, Barnes._

“Okay. Good. And I have no idea about In & Out. I thought they were only in Cali.” Bucky reached for his pocket, then stopped. “And my phone is...” He gestured toward the bedroom. “Who’s Sam, and how does he know about them?”

“If you move, I’ll stab you with a lip pencil, and then Nick will put a hit out on me. Stay,” Steve ordered, switching the pink pencil for the white again. “Sam’s my housemate. He was stationed somewhere — California, New Mexico, whatever. He was pararescue. Did two tours, before his partner died,” he added more softly.

“Pararescue. Fuck. Talk about having to be in shape...” Bucky wondered how hot this ‘housemate’ was for a moment before he realized he knew nothing about what Steve had done for the past fifteen years. “Did _you_ see service? I never thought to ask.”

“A little.” Steve shrugged and moved up, marking the next hole in the sweater before he shoved it higher up, under Bucky’s chin. “This one’s going to be close to your arm here. Do you mind showing the scars? I can cover them up. Turns out if you use red lipstick, then face powder, you can hide almost anything.”

“Seems silly to spend all this energy drawing fake shit, only to hide the real thing...”

Steve looked up, licking his bottom lip thoughtfully. “You really don’t mind?”

“It’s the new reality of my body, and it’s taken a while to get used to it, but if I’m gonna be known for being the actor with the metal arm, people might as well see what the fuck that entails. You said you didn’t want artificial, right?”

Steve grinned, then crawled over Bucky’s body, making him jump then try to stay still as Steve crossed over his hips. Steve settled on Bucky’s left side, took hold of his sleeve, and pulled, stretching the knitted weave and snapping some of the singed threads. He ripped all the way around to the seam under Bucky’s arm, then unraveled as much of the weave as he could.

“Stay here. I’ll get the shears,” he said, getting to his feet. He walked over Bucky and went out to the patio table.

 _Fuck, that shouldn’t have been so hot._ Bucky started breathing again and closed his eyes to remember Steve pressing his lips together and narrowing his eyes as he basically tore the sleeve right off Bucky’s body. He’d liked the sweater quite a lot, but it had definitely been worth it to ruin it like this. He spared a moment to wonder what else Steve was going to want to do to him for the sake of a picture.


	6. Chapter 6

**Thursday, April 10, 2014**

Every photographer who’d ever had Bucky in front of their camera was an idiot. Every. Single. One. Because while Bucky was heart-stoppingly gorgeous in boring poses, he came alive when challenged. Steve had to make himself stop twice to switch out memory cards and start transferring pictures to his hard drive, because he wasn’t willing to take even the slightest chance they’d be lost. Privately, he thought they were even better than the publicity stills from the movie, when they’d wrapped Bucky in an armored uniform of black leather, because this looked real, feral, even desperate. This was post-apocalyptic war hero Bucky.

Steve stopped shooting only when he finally thought he’d captured everything he wanted. He’d look over the actual pictures later that night. For now, he was mentally exhausted. “Go shower all that off,” he said, dropping onto an armchair with his laptop. “I think we can take it easy this afternoon. Or do you have something you need to do? Nick didn’t tell me your schedule.”

Bucky stripped off the one-armed sweater and huffed a laugh. “Uh... nap? Though if you want to go to the _Channel Your Inner Newt_ class, you’re welcome. Don’t ask me what you’ll get out of it though.” He trailed his fingers over the fake scratches on his chest and then looked up. “You could always show me your portfolio... You’re good at this, you know.”

Steve blinked a few times, trying to push past the _inner newt_ thing, but that just ended up with him staring at Bucky’s body. He finally made himself look down at the laptop, only to find himself staring _again_ , this time in close-up. God.

“I lost some of it — _Inner newt?_ ” he asked, turning back to Bucky. “What the hell’s an _inner newt?_ ”

Chuckling, Bucky shrugged. “Fuck if I know. They had me chatting with cockatoos the other morning.” He moved to the coffee table and tossed a folder at Steve. “Check out the spa activities list. While you’re at it, find something you like on the room service menu.”

When Bucky left for the shower, Steve could at least breathe more easily. He picked up the folder and skimmed through it, realizing with some horror that Bucky had been serious. Greet the morning with cockatoos? Eating bugs _outside_ dares?

Clearly, rich people were insane.

Worse, the room service menu was covered with icons — leaves for vegan meals, muffins for gluten-free, cows for dairy-free... Someone wasn’t getting the whole ‘free’ part, not that it mattered. There were more icons than letters, and Steve started thinking maybe he’d have to find an In & Out just to make it through the day. In the time it took for him to sneak into town for a burger, Bucky could have his nap.

He’d gone back to reviewing the photos, sorting through to find the best of them, when he heard Bucky return to the living room. “This isn’t food —”

He cut off, staring at Bucky, who’d put his ripped jeans back on, and nothing else. He’d washed off the cosmetics, and his skin was flushed from the heat of the shower. His hair was dripping trails of water down his body, and Steve’s brain shut down for a good five seconds.

Then he shoved his laptop onto the coffee table and said, “Don’t move. Stay _right there_ ,” as he rushed for his camera.

Bucky stopped still, but continued the conversation. “No, I know. It’s criminal what they get away with feeding people here. Let’s go to town for something greasy, made of animal other than insect. I only promised Nick I’d play along with this farce for three days. You’re my out for the rest of the time.”

Steve might have answered. He might’ve even heard what Bucky was saying, somewhere on the other side of the white noise that had engulfed his thoughts. He was more concerned with moving, trying to find a background that didn’t have horrible little quail statues or copper plates, and finally, without letting up on the shutter, he asked, “What’s the shower like?”

“Hot. Wet. Relaxing.” Bucky looked at Steve for a second as if suspicious. “Unless you are asking whether it’s a good setting for photos, in which case, big, glass, and brown like everything else.”

“Okay. Yeah.” Steve lowered the camera and almost told Bucky to head that way before remembering lunch. And if Bucky had been eating bugs and food-free food for the last few days, he was probably starving. “After. God. How do you manage to look like a drowned kitten _and_ a fucking action hero at the same time?” he asked, raising the camera for a couple more shots.

Bucky snorted a laugh and rolled his eyes, his grin wide. “Kitten Action Hero, there’s a niche market someone should take advantage of.” He didn’t show a hint of impatience at Steve’s compulsive clicking, but after another minute he spoke. “You wanna go eat? Then you can get me wet all over again when we get back.”

Steve almost dropped the camera.

He caught it, leaving fingerprints on the lens, and swore under his breath as he put it safely down on the hideous couch. “Lunch. Yes. Not bugs,” he said, trying to pretend like he’d meant to put the camera there, though he couldn’t quite reach the card reader. And he nearly pulled the external drive off the coffee table when he gave the laptop an unwise tug.

“Right, which means giving up on the food options here, I think. I could get something from the outside delivered, I’m sure, unless you wanna drive...”

Drive. Leave the suite. That would give Steve breathing room.

“Yes. Good. Let’s do that. How are you with maps?” Steve asked, finally climbing over the couch so he could start the file transfer.

“Scout sniper, remember? Besides, I have GPS on my phone.” Bucky disappeared into the bedroom.

For a few precious seconds, Steve closed his eyes and told himself to focus. He was a professional. He needed to just treat Bucky like he would any other model. He opened his eyes and concentrated on setting up the file transfer.

By the time the transfer was nearly complete, Bucky came back, pulling a white T-shirt over his head. He slapped all his pockets as if to check their contents, then held up his phone with the maps app open to show Steve. “Someplace you wanna go?”

“Somewhere with food that came from a farm, not a fair trade factory.” Steve went to find his keys, avoiding looking at Bucky too much. “We can get drive-through. The SUV has tinted windows. Or maybe there’s a Sonic, so we can eat in the car. I’m pretty sure I could fend off a small crowd, but we’d be easily outnumbered, and... Nick.” He grinned over at Bucky. “I like not being dead.”

Bucky’s eyes went wide. “Oh, fuck. Yeah. Jesus. Lemme get a hat or something. What was I thinking?” He disappeared again, then came back with a baseball cap and sunglasses on his head, buttoning up a navy blue cardigan to hide his arm. “Drove past a Sonic on the way from the airport, if you want that, but whatever. We could just pick something up and bring it back here instead.”

“And risk having you dragged off for, I dunno, a class in talking to fire or something? I’d rather have you to m—” Steve snapped his mouth shut, hoping like hell that Bucky hadn’t noticed. He changed gears, saying, “We should discuss any ideas you have. For more shoots. For tomorrow or something.”

Bucky gave Steve a look that might be a little too sharp and knowing, but casually answered, “Sure. Like I said, you’re the boss. I’ll work with whatever you give me. But we can come up with stuff.”

Relieved, Steve turned away to check the files. It was done, so he shut down the external drive, unhooked everything, and then picked up his laptop. He shoved it in his bag, then took a quick look around. He told himself that no one would bother the equipment — not in a resort like this — but just in case he picked up the _Do Not Disturb_ sign to hang on the door.

“Find us that Sonic. If you’ve been eating healthy for three days, you need a milkshake and a cheeseburger,” Steve said as he followed Bucky out of the suite.

“Hell fucking yes, I do,” Bucky said, closing the door.

Steve checked the lock, then hung the sign. “God, I still remember the _crap_ you’d bring to camp for lunch. It’s like your nanny didn’t realize she was packing for a twelve-year-old. Be glad I took pity on you, trading peanut butter for some of that,” he added, nudging Bucky’s arm. Only when he felt the hard, smooth metal under Bucky’s sleeve did he realize he was on Bucky’s left side, but Bucky didn’t seem to care.

“To be fair, she doubled as the personal trainer and had a degree in nutrition...” Bucky’s sunglasses hid his eyes, but Steve could see the sideways smirk underneath them. “But you’re right. I was lucky to have you around.”

Steve grinned at that, finally relaxing, now that the ugliness of those stolen photos had faded. Bucky had always been too laid-back for his own good. Steve might’ve been hot-tempered in summer camp, but at least he’d fought to get Bucky the space to breathe and be himself, rather than the Hollywood star everyone wanted him to be.

Because nothing at a resort like this could be easy, they had to wait for a valet to retrieve the rental SUV. Steve kept his sunglasses off long enough to study the light. He really did want to get some outdoor shots of Bucky’s arm, but the glare might be too much, if he didn’t filter it just right. Besides, he didn’t want to expose Bucky’s bare skin to too much sunlight.

“You have sunblock, right?” he asked absently, putting his sunglasses back on.

“Someone does. If I don’t, the spa will, for fuck’s sake.” Bucky had been looking at his phone but lifted his head to Steve. “Why, what’re you thinking?”

“Getting you in direct sunlight. Or maybe indirect, at the edge of shadow...” Lost in thought, Steve circled around to the driver’s side and got in. As Bucky climbed in the other side, Steve said, “Yeah. Edge of shadow. Direct light on your left arm, indirect everywhere else. Maybe tree branches or an overhead canopy or something.” He looked over at Bucky, and he had to hold tight to the steering wheel to keep from touching Bucky’s face. “If I can manage it, light across your eyes. We’ll have to see.”

Bucky had taken off his sunglasses once they got in the car, and he looked over at Steve with a contemplative little frown. “How long have you been doing this? You seem like you could come up with ideas forever. And somehow you can actually pull them off, all by yourself. Most photographers have like five PAs running around.”

“Yeah, you work with photographers who make money at it,” Steve said, trying not to sound bitter. It wasn’t all talent. A lot of it was luck — being in the right place at the right moment. And while Steve _had_ gotten a couple of shots that could’ve made his name, he’d refused to use them for ethical reasons that didn’t seem to bother everyone else. “I studied landscapes, mostly. A little wildlife. I wanted to do National Geographic stuff, but that never worked out. I tried to do a spread on remote locations, only three-quarters of the photos I took ended up classified. I stopped trying.”

“So that’s the kind of service you’ve seen? Photojournalistic stuff?”

Steve shook his head, wondering how the hell to change the subject. He shouldn’t have brought up his military service at all, but it had been on his mind since Bucky had asked. “I went to art school, but that really didn’t help my career, except if I wanted to go into teaching, so I do freelance. Events, mostly, but I really don’t _like_ them. Everyone wants the same poses. Bridesmaids. God, if I never have to talk to another bridesmaid again... Even _you_ couldn’t be that much of a diva. And I’ve seen you at your worst, Mr. What Do You Mean It’s Not Pizza Day At Camp.”

Bucky gave him a look. “You know, I could have decided _every day_ was pizza day at camp, but I only had it delivered for everyone that one time.” He looked out the windshield for a moment before asking, “What kind of stuff do you wanna shoot, then?”

“Something _different_.” As he braked at a stop sign, Steve shot Bucky a quick, guilty glance. “Child star Bucky Barnes, last survivor of the zombie apocalypse, maybe. Hell, look around us.” He nodded towards the barren brown landscape. “I’d put you out there. Digital camo boots and pants with a sawed-off shotgun. Cover you with dust. Shoot with a hazy filter, like it’s a hundred and ten degrees instead of seventy. Completely wreck your boy next door image.”

“God, I wanna be in _that_ movie. Fuck the stills, Steve. Let’s get you working on film.”

Steve laughed. “You mean with _moving people_ and _sound_?” he asked innocently. “Sorry, just a kid from Brooklyn. Too complicated for me. Besides, give me... I dunno, twenty shots, and I could tell a story. That’s what I _really_ want. Not to have some editor hack out my best shots because a marketing executive thought they wouldn’t sell.” He shrugged and turned up the air conditioning a notch. “Which is why I’m still living in a hole in the wall in Brooklyn.”

“Well, shit. How many stories do you think we can tell this weekend? If Nick okays them we can get him to bully people into only taking them as a package deal. You could have every magazine spread for the next few months.” Bucky’s voice held a breath of excitement in it.

Steve couldn’t hide his grin. “Think he’d trust us with a shotgun? I can try to pull rank.”

“Who, Nick? Man, Nick’s not here. Fuck him. Let’s see what the gun purchasing laws are like in New Mexico. Maybe we can get one today.” Bucky looked over at Steve, his eyebrows up. “And besides, no one pulls rank on Fury. Even if you were... wait, what are you? Rank-wise?”

“Army Captain, out of Eglin Air Force Base in Florida.” Steve kept his eyes on the road, slowing down unnecessarily as he turned the SUV around a steep downhill curve. “7th SFG,” he added, knowing that Bucky would ask what he’d been doing at an Air Force Base. Like Bucky’s unit, the 7th Special Forces Group (Airborne) had done time in Afghanistan, but most of Steve’s missions had been elsewhere.

Bucky let out a low whistle. “Fuck. All right. Maybe Fury _would_ take orders from you.” He was silent for a moment, looking out his window. “Jesus, Steve. I mean, can I even ask? Or is your entire military career above my clearance level?”

“I like photography a whole lot more,” Steve said with a wry smile. “Except the bridesmaids. God, I’ll take drug runners over bridesmaids any day.”

Steve could feel Bucky’s eyes on him as he huffed a laugh at that. “I’m going to make an educated guess and say you’re speaking from first-hand experience with both.” When he didn’t get a response, he continued, “Shit. Well, can I at least see whatever of your work is _not_ classified?”

“Sure,” Steve said, a little nervously. If Bucky hated the pictures, he’d never cooperate for the rest of the photoshoot, even subconsciously. “I’ve got the best shots on my laptop. But don’t blame me if the bridesmaids give you nightmares. The rustle of pink taffeta in the darkness, light glinting off a pointy heel coming at your skull...”

Bucky’s voice was all amusement. “I’ll take my chances. You can’t put me off that easy. Remember, I’ve seen your early work, you jerk.”

Steve laughed. “Best finger paintings in camp.”

 

~~~

 

The SUV was spacious enough that Bucky could keep the laptop on the center console and eat without risking ketchup on the keyboard. Steve’s photo library was meticulously organized by date and location, with searchable tags. There were a lot of familiar New York sights, but apparently Steve had spent a good deal of time in dense jungle and lush green mountains. Combined with the 7th SFG, that meant Central and South America, where the US military still ran quiet, not-quite-public operations, probably under CIA control.

How the hell had scrawny, sickly, artistic Steve Rogers ended up in Special Forces?

And he hadn’t been kidding about the wedding photos, though the only ones saved to the laptop were comedy shots. The best showed a group of bridesmaids, in stages of disarray, all peeking out of hotel room doors, looking down the hallway to where the bride and groom — at least, Bucky assumed it was the groom — were making out against a window. Everything was slightly out of focus except for a royal blue garter on the bride’s bared leg, framed by her hiked-up, frilly wedding dress.

The gallery ended abruptly, though, with no photos newer than December 2012. The last ones showed the reconstruction efforts after Hurricane Sandy, under a light dusting of snow, with Christmas lights in the far background.

“Is that it, or are the more recent ones saved somewhere else?” Bucky hadn’t seen any celebrities in what he’d looked through, and there was no way Steve was that good at photoshoots from only dealing with bridesmaids.

It was hard to tell through Steve’s sunglasses, but Bucky thought he looked over for a moment. “In my Facebook gallery, yeah. Only finished photos. I lost the most recent batch of syncs and backups.”

“Oh, shit. That sucks. What happened?”

“The virus that wiped out your photos,” Steve said gently. “We had to make sure it was distributed everywhere there might be copies.”

“ _What?_ You lost two years’ worth of pictures when Nick... You _let_ him wipe out your fucking livelihood for...”

_Jesus Christ._

“Steve. I can’t...” This was too much. Bucky felt like the world’s worst person for letting a friend sacrifice so much for him. Especially when his first reaction had been to get pissed off about it. “I’m such an asshole. How can —”

“Bucky —”

“— I ever repay you for that? Why on earth would you do it? I’m not that important, I —”

“Bucky!” Steve interrupted. “It’s fine. I didn’t have anything I needed to sell. Everything that sold was already transferred. It was stuff I’d been sitting on and a few recent pictures. That’s all.”

Looking at Steve was hard, but Bucky was able to breathe again when he saw Steve’s face was calm and open. Not mad at all. “I’m still a fucking asshole. And you really didn’t need to do that for me. Fuck.” He reached out with his left hand to touch Steve’s shoulder, but stopped halfway, and pulled it back. “Can I...” Was there anything he could offer that Nick hadn’t already? “I dunno, do you need new equipment?”

“I didn’t do it for money. God, just being able to take _good_ pictures of you —” Steve cut off with a laugh, shaking his head, and finished off his burger. “I’ve hated every photo spread they’ve done of you since you got out of the hospital. They couldn’t have made you look more _boring_ if they’d covered you with a sheet like Casper the Friendly Ghost.”

Bucky couldn’t help but laugh at that. He _had_ gotten tired of the same pretty clothes and static poses that everybody wanted these days. Photographers had seemed to forget that people lived in four dimensions, that time was a factor in everything and change was ever-present, and it was their job to catch one instant in a life full of motion. Models weren’t dolls to pose, especially not actors whose entire job was to be present and fully live in a moment — which was impossible while standing still, with someone in your face refusing to treat you as anything more than an object.

Steve had been so fucking different, though. He’d taken on the role of the other person in a scene, or at least an active audience, that would give back the energy Bucky put into things. That feedback loop was why Bucky had stayed in this profession at all.

Which was why Steve’s idea of a twenty-picture series sounded so exciting to Bucky. They could develop it together, and walk the line of static image and movement through time to tell a story.

 _If_ his portraits were any good. Bucky couldn’t gauge Steve’s skill based on landscapes and bridesmaids. What they had done earlier had _felt_ good, but sometimes that meant nothing when translating to outward appearances. Bucky hoped to Christ that those pictures had turned out well, because if so, they had a lot of interesting work ahead of them.

“No more boring, then. Show me what we’ve done so far today.” Bucky looked over at Steve, who was sucking on his milkshake, and suppressed a shiver — whether it was of excitement about the project or simply from admiring the way Steve’s cheeks hollowed, Bucky wasn’t sure. Either one was fine.

When Steve licked the straw, Bucky was positive that shiver had nothing to do with the project.

“This folder,” Steve said, opening another gallery link. This one opened a tiled array of twelve albums, with today’s first photograph of Bucky, out in the grass, at the bottom right corner. But right before that was a cover shot of a gorgeous black man, well-built and nude, and what looked like a rope spiderweb. Bucky couldn’t tell if the man was climbing it or bound to it, but before he could look more closely, Steve tapped the touchpad to open the last gallery. “Ninety percent of the shots are going to be crap,” Steve warned. “That’s how it always is, so don’t panic if you’re blinking or something. Okay?”

Bucky grinned at hearing what sounded like nerves. “I _have_ done this before, Steve. A couple photographers that have shot me multiple times let me scroll through the pics on their cameras while we were still in the studio. The Digital Age means a thousand shots for maybe five good ones.” He smiled reassuringly at Steve, then turned back to the gallery.

And he just sort of stared. For a long time. He clicked through the shots in the grass at a medium pace, noticing the composition and ignoring the blurry or bad shots, sure that there were a couple good ones in there where he didn’t look too goofy. He could see the slow untensing of his shoulders and how his unforced laugh was a real moment, captured perfectly.

But then he got to the stuff with the torn sweater and the dark eyes, and he stopped. And took a long moment with each picture. This was a look no one had ever thought to use with him. He looked half-crazy, and the frenetic energy in the shots was almost palpable. Steve didn’t miss an opportunity, either. He captured every moment — even the ones when Bucky broke character.

One of those was actually his favorite. He had been catching his breath — his left hand in his hair, his eyes too wide, blue irises bright amidst the dark makeup, his dogtag hanging out of his mouth. It should have been awkward, but he had been looking at Steve, so his eyes looked like they were trained on the camera.

The best pictures, in Bucky’s opinion, were the ones where you could see the frames right before and after in your mind, as if the one you had in front of you was just a split second in the movie. And this one did that for Bucky when he looked at it. A lot of Steve’s pictures did, actually. Which was a relief. By the time he looked away from the gallery he was mostly just really excited to tell Steve, with all truthfulness, he liked his work.

Steve was fidgeting with his straw, staring out the window, his shoulders tense. Bucky did touch his shoulder this time, lightly, to get his attention, then held out the laptop with his favorite picture on the screen. “They’re fucking incredible, Steve. This one, especially. I was so fucking upset for a good chunk of this shoot, and you just worked with it. It’s electric.” He scrolled through to the later shots. “And then after you drew on me and I... wasn’t angry anymore, and we just had fun with it, the energy is still... I dunno. You just bring it out of me. It’s fucking awesome, and you can _see_ it.”

He looked up to see Steve smiling in open relief, all the tension gone. “So, if Nick says this was a stupid idea, you’ve got my back?” he asked, grinning. “’Cause you know me. I can _start_ fights with anyone...”

“It’s the finishing them that always needed work.” Bucky grinned, remembering how many times Steve had ended up in the nurse’s office, defending him. “Look, you were the one in the 7th SFG. You don’t need me to keep you from getting hurt. But Nick’s not an idiot. He can see better than anyone what works and what doesn’t. Believe me, he’ll get on board.”

“Then... think you’d be willing to try something else?” Steve asked, looking up at the sky.

“Anything, boss.” Bucky half-hoped Steve hadn’t forgotten about the shower idea, but they had a couple more days to go back to it. When something that shouldn’t have worked panned out as well as it just did, Bucky was ready to follow Steve anywhere.


	7. Chapter 7

**Thursday, April 10, 2014**

Wishing he’d brought proper boots instead of sneakers, Steve picked his way carefully across the terrain, wary of rattlesnakes and scorpions. He hoped it was too early in the year for them, but there was no sense in taking chances. Besides, scorpions were more active at night, and he had no plans to be in the desert with Bucky after the sun went down. That was the last thing Steve needed: a near-death experience with a former child star whose little finger was worth more than Steve had made in his entire career as a photographer.

The SUV had made it down the dirt road with barely any complaints. Steve had taken a few minutes to check the tires, including the spare, before they’d ever left the parking lot of the K-mart across the road from Sonic. He’d also packed the back of the truck with water bottles — for tomorrow’s shoot as well as in case of emergency.

“Here,” he said, turning back to face Bucky, who’d followed him more slowly. “We’re coming back here tomorrow. I might need a couple of lights, but I rented a small generator that should do just fine.”

“Yep. Sufficiently post-apocalyptic. Jesus.” Bucky had left his cardigan in the car and was standing with his hands on his hips, his back to the sun, surveying the nothingness of the New Mexico State Park. “So how do you wanna do this? Without a gun and all.”

“We improvise. I’ll find a board or branch or something tonight and put a couple of nails in it. Or maybe not. With that arm, you don’t need an actual weapon to look dangerous.” Steve grinned, studying Bucky’s silhouette, even though the sun-glare hurt his eyes. “Then we’ll go for the deadly drowned kitten look out here.” He looked down, scuffing his foot in the dirt. “I don’t know if we can get much in the way of mud, so you might just have to roll around in the dirt first.”

“You want me dirty and wet and in the middle of nowhere. Hmm.” Bucky’s face was in shadow, and Steve held his breath until Bucky continued, “Yeah, all right. But dammit, stop calling me a kitten.”

“Aww, but you _are_ ,” Steve teased, heading back towards Bucky and the SUV. “Haven’t you seen the fansites with drawings of you with cat ears?” He swiped a hand out to ruffle Bucky’s hair.

Bucky bared his teeth and snapped at the air near Steve’s fingers. “Shut up. There are _not_ pictures like that.”

“Remind me to introduce you to the dark side of Tumblr,” Steve said, grinning even more. He gave Bucky a shove towards the SUV. “I’ve kept up with your career. It’s _interesting_ , seeing what the fans really want from you.”

Bucky slowed down until Steve had come up next to him and then body-checked his shoulder. “I don’t fucking want to know. Unless _you_ run a James Barnes fansite, then I definitely want to know.” He waggled his eyebrows at Steve, and a teasing grin spread across his face.

Steve huffed, _very_ relieved that he didn’t, because he’d be blushing furiously. He didn’t have to mention that he knew every single one of them. “If I did, it would be to compile material to use against you. Remember that lousy pirate movie you did when you were seventeen? With that guy who played an elf in Lord of the Rings?”

“Oh, God, no. Why? Why do you have to bring that up?” Bucky covered his face with his hands. “I was so fucking sick of acting at that point, I was phoning in everything. And my agent back then — not Nick — was a complete moron for letting me. And _then_ putting me in shitty stuff like that.”

“There’s a three hundred _thousand_ word fanfic series about your group of pirates ending up in Middle Earth and rescuing Gondor from Sauron’s forces. It got pulled off the internet last year, because the author got a book deal.” Steve smirked at Bucky, adding, “Your pirate ends up marrying the elf prince.”

“One: who the fuck would write something like that? Two: did you actually read it? Because seriously, Steve...”

“It was _really_ good, actually. More action than Tolkien’s original work.” Steve opened Bucky’s door for him. “She rewrote the whole Paths of the Dead scene to have the elf duel the King of the Dead before they’d fight with Gondor. So there’s an idea. If you don’t want cat ears, we could go the pirate costume route.”

“I will kill you in your sleep, Rogers.” Bucky climbed in the car and pulled the door shut petulantly. Laughing, Steve circled around to the driver’s side and got in.

“Special Forces, Buck,” Steve said as he started the engine. “You’re welcome to try, but I sleep _really_ light.”

 

~~~

 

The mud-themed photoshoot explained the bottles of water in the back of the SUV. While Bucky had tried — and failed — to talk the gun counter guy into at least renting him a shotgun, Steve had shopped for more than water. He’d loaded a few plastic bags into the SUV, and Bucky got to carry those into the spa, while Steve took care of the two small pieces of luggage he’d left behind at the motel where Nick had put him. Bucky handed Steve the room key, then went to find a cheerful spa attendant so he could arrange for a bed and another key.

He caught up with Steve outside the room, where Steve was staring through the windows into one of the open plazas. Four people were out in the sunlight, doing yoga.

“Those... are iguanas, aren’t they?” Steve asked. “They’re all over Central America. Why are they doing yoga with iguanas, Bucky?”

“Fuck if I know. Maybe it helps align your basal chakra or something. Though honestly, I hope not, because that’s kinda kinky.”

“Iguanas do _not_ do yoga,” Steve told him. “I know this for a fact. I’ve seen them in the wild. I’ve had nothing better to do than watch them for hours at a shot. I never saw one even attempt yoga.”

Bucky stifled what could only be called a giggle, and put his arm around Steve as he led him across the hall and into the suite. “ _Darling,_ let me tell you a little something about what rich people are willing to pay for. The more outlandish and impossible something is, the fucking better. Yogaing iguanas are something people will throw money at.”

“I quit photography,” Steve declared a little dazedly. “I’m... starting a zombie apocalypse workout gym. It’s for — What the _hell_ is a basal chakra?”

Bucky’s grin went a little too wide, and he could feel it turning into a wince. “The one at the bottom. An energy center at, well, your anus. But honestly, zombie apocalypse gym is an idea whose time has come, Steve. Seriously. Run with it. Or lumber slowly, or something.”

Choking back a laugh, Steve took the bags Bucky was carrying. “You’ve been here too long. You’re infected. Next thing, you’ll be smuggling an iguana into the room at dawn tomorrow. Here,” he said, pulling a loud, crinkly package out of one of the bags. “Oreos. Go fuck up your chakras and start the shower.”

Bucky stopped still for a second and just stared as Steve went to hook up his laptop to the external hard drive, because he seriously couldn’t believe how ridiculously thoughtful this man was. It was almost creepy. But after so many years of people being paid to attend to his habits, for someone to just remember because they cared felt stupidly good. At camp, whenever Steve got Oreos in his lunch, Bucky used to beg for just one of them. But without fail, Steve had always given him exactly half. Even if there were an odd number.

He ripped open the package, stuck a cookie between his teeth, then grabbed three more with one hand and four with the other. He left the package on the bar, then walked past the coffee table, where he dropped the stack of four next to Steve’s computer. He took his share into the bathroom with him.

While munching the absolute perfection of the Oreo cookie and starting the shower, Bucky thought about Steve’s admissions over the course of the day. He’d watched the beheading video more times than anyone ever should, had hated every photoshoot Bucky had done, and could reference fanart and fanfic about him without blinking. From that list, one would think that Steve was a _fan_.

But it was clear the video was a ‘please tell me he’s not dead’ situation, which struck Bucky through the heart, to be honest, and Steve obviously had a professional interest in the photoshoots. And seriously, at this point, you couldn’t be even mildly famous without some douchebag interviewer thinking it was funny to make you look at or read a fanwork of some kind about yourself or a character you played, so even Bucky knew about some of it. And the fact that Steve had read some... well, hadn’t everyone by now?

The part that confused Bucky was how very _not_ fannish Steve was. He’d admitted to following Bucky’s career, which many of his old friends had done, but Steve had yet to compliment Bucky on anything he’d worked on. Not that Bucky had a fragile enough ego that he crumbled when not praised, but that had become the normal course of interaction. ‘I loved you in [fill in the blank]’ was the phrase that always came after ‘it’s good to see you again’.

But then Steve had remembered things like the ant dare and the Oreos fixation and other stuff that, until he mentioned it, Bucky would have never been able to dredge up.

That made all the difference. Because true to form, Steve wasn’t interested in Bucky as an actor, but as a person. Which was the primary reason they had become friends to begin with, and which was probably why Bucky was slipping up in weird ways — not offering coffee to his photographer, not remembering to put on a sweater and cap to go out in public.

And that was because around Steve, Bucky just felt like a regular person, even when Steve was dressing him up and taking his picture. It was like they were just playing around, coming up with projects that would look cool, not that Steve had to capture the essence of ‘James Barnes, Actor’ for some big publicity push.

He finished the last Oreo as Steve knocked lightly on the bathroom door. When it swung open, steam billowed out. Steve looked around at the walls, then up at the lights. “Can you do your own mascara? There’s a new tube of waterproof stuff in one of the grocery bags. I don’t want to accidentally hurt you.”

“Yeah, sure. But the trick is to hold the wand still and move your eyelashes against it, so no poking of eyeballs happens.” Bucky watched Steve’s face for a reaction, but he seemed busy thinking about other things. “Need help setting stuff up?”

“No,” Steve said thoughtfully, drawing the word out. “Soft lights, I think. This is going to be warmer. Relaxed. So no zombies. Have another Oreo, do your mascara, and if you’ve — No,” he said, abruptly cutting himself off before he walked out.

“What?” Bucky followed him out of the bathroom and into the living room, where Steve was examining what looked like Bucky’s old combat uniform, neatly dry cleaned and pressed for storage. He was examining the cuffs at the bottom of the pants, where a drawstring was meant to pull them tight over boots, keeping sand and rain out. “What? Say it.”

“Drawstring. You didn’t sew in elastic,” Steve said, giving Bucky a grin. He pulled the pants off the hanger and threw them at Bucky. “Put those on, leave the cuffs untied and loose. No shirt, dog tags.”

Bucky shook his head. Steve when he was working was a fascinating creature, but definitely not the easiest to follow. Bucky had no idea if what Steve was going to say in the bathroom actually had to do with the pants or not, but there was no getting it out of him now.

“Sure.” Just to see if Steve would even notice, Bucky stripped off right where he was standing to put on the camo uniform pants.

“No underwear,” was Steve’s only response as he barely glanced up from checking his lenses. “That or hide the waistband. We’re not going for intentionally sexy, but with you it’ll happen no matter what.”

Bucky had to admit he was surprised into stillness for a second, but Steve had called his bluff, so he figured showing weakness now was a bad idea. He turned his back and dragged down his underwear, bending at the waist to tug them off his feet. “You’re putting me half-naked in a shower. If the sexiness isn’t intentional, I worry about the levels of denial you live with.”

“Asshole,” Steve accused lightly. “You’ve just spent the day killing zombies, and now you’re showering. You’re thinking of a secure place to bed down for the night, not getting laid. I don’t give a damn what the _viewers_ think they should be thinking. Any photographer can shove you in a shower and take _those_ pictures. Let’s see if we can go beyond that.”

Motivation. It was such a rare gift from a photographer. To be given a scenario, a reason for being in the scene, made everything so much easier. If more photographers thought about shooting actors as if they were directing them in a second-long movie, Bucky would actually fucking like this part of the job. Modeling had always made him want to snarl by the end of the day.

In this case, he’d started out snarling. Though if Steve kept making his job this easy, he might end up purring by the end.

 

~~~

 

“Exhausted, Bucky. _Exhausted_. Not like you want to fuck the viewer into the wall.” It slipped out before Steve could stop himself, but after standing in a steamy bathroom with Bucky for the last hour, he just didn’t care. The lighting was finally perfect, the waterproof mascara bought at K-Mart was actually holding up to the strain, and _nothing_ Steve did could turn Bucky from some sort of drowned kitten sex god into something more compelling. Or equally compelling, but in a different way.

“But I —” Bucky cut himself off, then huffed, annoyed, and leaned sullenly against the shower wall. “I _am_ exhausted, Steve. I’m also boneless after being in hot water this long. It’s not my fault you thought it was a good idea to put mascara on me. Remember when I said I’d look like a whore?”

“God. Fine. Sit down,” Steve said, pushing the shower door open a little more. “Close your eyes and try to look like you’re still breathing. You gonna fall asleep on me?”

Bucky smiled, eyes already closed, and tilted his head back against the wall, exposing his throat. “Heh. Not if we turn on the cold water...”

“I’m not trying to kill you here. God, that’s perfect. Just... don’t move,” Steve said, giving in to the inevitable. If just having him sitting in the shower was going to turn Bucky into a sex icon, fine. Steve could work with it. “You got lazy. Stopped shaving the last couple of days, didn’t you? Don’t answer. Just don’t shave tomorrow.”

The barest hint of a smile pulled at the edges of Bucky’s mouth. Other than that and his eyelashes quivering on his cheeks, he was perfectly still. Until he spoke again. “You like it rough, huh?”

Steve stopped taking pictures. He closed his eyes, hoping like hell that Bucky didn’t look over at him, and let out what was supposed to be a frustrated huff. “Talking is moving, Buck,” he said, and went back to taking pictures. He gave in and focused on Bucky’s face, the line of his throat, the eyelashes — and, yes, the mascara was _definitely_ a mistake, because his eyelashes were already long enough to trap water. Darker and longer made them that much more captivating.

Bucky took a deep breath and exhaled sharply through his nose. “It’s boring to —”

“Bucky.” Steve switched the camera to his right hand, reached his left into the shower, and lifted Bucky’s dog tags from his chest, refusing to even _think_ of the feel of hot skin under his fingertips. Bucky blinked his eyes open and gave Steve a startled look, just as Steve pushed one of the dog tags into Bucky’s mouth. “Stay.”

Blinking more, Bucky bit down on the metal tag, then brought his lips around it, pulled it a little further into his mouth, and sucked on it, all the while looking directly at the camera. Then he closed his eyes and just played with the tag, moving it around his mouth with his lips and teeth and tongue. Steve captured it all, trying to find the few moments when Bucky looked more like an exhausted fighter than...

“Oh, to hell with it,” Steve muttered, shifting so he was pressed right up against the open shower door. He wasn’t going to find professional distance here, so he just indulged, capturing the shots _he_ wanted. “This will work better out in the desert. There won’t be running water after an apocalypse anyway. Do whatever you want,” he said, still snapping pictures. “Or we can stop, and you can go to a sunset communion with cacti or something.”

Bucky didn’t stop or even open his eyes; he just brought his right hand up into the frame and started tugging on the chain hanging from the tag. He had to bite down harder to keep it in his mouth, and the tension in his face and hand changed the tone of the pictures.

There was _no way_ Steve was selling these. They’d net him a small fortune, but he didn’t care. He slowed, going for quality rather than quantity, taking his time to focus on Bucky’s mouth, his hand, the way water ran down over his metal arm, the shadowed hollow of his collarbone. God, he was in good shape.

Steve inched back as far as he could without getting the shower door in the frame, and took a few shots of the water hitting low on Bucky’s chest, right above the soaked digital camo pants. He had to bite his cheek to keep from telling Bucky to undo the top button or two.

And _that_ thought was enough to push Steve up to his feet. He turned, unable to keep looking — staring — at Bucky, and said, “Okay. I think we’re done. Let me get the light out, and then I can leave you to dry off.”

“Sorry, Steve —” Bucky moved behind him, probably getting to his feet. “I thought...”

The pause felt too heavy, too potentially awkward, so Steve concentrated on taking down the light. The sooner he got some distance, the sooner they could both get back to being professional about this.

“Never mind.” Bucky’s voice almost didn’t carry over the sound of the water.

Relieved, Steve dared a quick look over his shoulder. Bucky was standing in the shower, leaning against the door, watching him. Steve gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile and said, “I’ll probably be a while, reviewing these. I can leave the Oreos on the dresser for you.”

Bucky frowned. “You leaving? Or just banishing me to my room so you can concentrate?”

“I thought you wanted to nap. No reason to starve while you’re at it.” One more quick smile, and Steve escaped, struggling to carry his gear out without breaking anything.

Compared to the steamy bathroom, it was freezing in the bedroom. Steve put down the light so he could close the door, then leaned back against the wall, trying to catch his breath. The first half of the bathroom shoot was probably good, even if Bucky had been less rugged and more... _appealing_ than Steve had wanted. But he had two more days to fix that. No more showers. In fact, he decided as he headed out to the living room, no pools, bathtubs, or hot tubs, either. Hell, if he hadn’t mentioned the desert shoot to Bucky, he might’ve crossed that off the list as well.


	8. Chapter 8

**Thursday, April 10, 2014**

The door closed behind Steve, and Bucky sank back down to the shower floor.

_Fuck._

He’d just very possibly ruined everything. If he’d made Steve uncomfortable, this was going to be a long night, and an even longer weekend. But the hot water and the camera up close and Steve’s fingers on his lips and the dogtag in his mouth had set Bucky up to fail.

He was an actor — naturally there was a bit of an exhibitionist in him — but he’d always loved having Steve’s eyes on him. So, of course it was just his luck that he had started to get hard. And of course he’d worried that Steve would see, which made him wonder what Steve’s reaction would be. And that had the effect of making him even harder. Hence trying to distract from it by tugging at the tags. And then Steve had leaned back and started to take pictures of his torso, and... yeah. Left abruptly.

Bucky had been a good ninety percent sure that Steve was enjoying the shoot, and that finally just going for sexy was a good thing. It wasn’t like Bucky hadn’t _tried_ for rugged, exhausted soldier, but being in the shower while Steve watched and told him what to do had Bucky’s heart rate up from the start.

And now, if he didn’t get some release, going back out there and acting normal was going to be impossible.

He stood up and shucked off his pants, thankful the resort had endless hot water, and jacked off as quickly and quietly as he could. Not that it took long. Between the image of Steve licking his lips while he composed shots in his head, the smell of Steve’s deodorant filling his nostrils in the steamy, close room, and the familiar feel of sucking on his dogtags — which had become a habit in bed with Clint — it took just a couple minutes before he came all over the brown tile.

When he’d dried off and stepped out of the bathroom, he found that the bedroom door was almost completely closed, and the package of Oreos was sitting on the dresser.

He put on a pair of track pants and a pullover hoodie, and then flipped up the hood to not feel so exposed. He knew he couldn’t nap without knowing if he and Steve were okay, so he grabbed the cookies and made his way quietly into the living room. Steve was hunched over his laptop on the couch. Without looking up, Steve beckoned him over, saying, “I need you to set up a Dropbox account that’s private. Here.” He slid the laptop across the coffee table.

 _Shit._ Back to Steve the professional stranger. “I have one. Though maybe I should check the privacy settings on that, too, huh?” Bucky set the package of Oreos on the table and sat down near him on the couch, but not too close. He logged in, then handed the computer back to Steve.

Steve laughed, shaking his head, and started tapping on the touchpad. “Yeah, okay. First, we’re enabling two-step authentication for you. To log in, you’ll get a text, so you’ll have to put in your phone number, too. Now, we’re breaking the rules here, because you’re logging in on my computer, but I’m not running a keylogger or anything. From now on, you don’t log in on _any_ computer but your own. Okay?” He turned the computer and gave Bucky a serious look. “Put in your phone number.”

Bucky nodded and entered the number. “Do you have that, by the way? You should. It’s my personal phone. No jumping through hoops to get to me. Not for a friend.”

“Buck, I have _one_ phone number for someone at Nick’s office who won’t keep hanging up on me. You’re pretty well insulated from everything. You’ve got a good team working for you.”

Pointing to the number on the screen, Bucky said, “Write that down, then. Or put it in your phone. I don’t wanna be insulated from you. We’ve got projects to work on.”

For a second, Bucky was worried he was pushing too much, but then Steve gave him a genuine smile — one that might have even been a little relieved. “Okay. You’ll get a text for verification, so put it in.”

Bucky had no idea where his phone was. Probably still in his jeans on the floor where he’d stripped in front of Steve. The text alert sounded to verify his hunch a moment later. He went to grab it then came back to Steve at the couch, where they unlocked their phones before switching. Steve entered Bucky’s text verification code while Bucky programmed his private phone number into Steve’s phone. Then, even though Steve already knew where he lived, he went ahead and started to put in the rest of his information — mailing address, email, and so on.

“I know I said _no electronic copies_ , but I’m uploading these pictures just so you can print them when you get home. Then you can send them to your boyfriend, and delete the electronic copies.” Steve shot Bucky a serious look. “And I mean that. I’m not even keeping copies for myself, Buck. These should stay private.”

_What?_

Bucky was only halfway through entering his information in Steve’s phone. He stopped to raise his head and stare at Steve from under his hood. “I don’t have...” He blinked, trying to figure out how Steve had come to that conclusion.

“You don’t _have_ to print them,” Steve said, still clicking. He was selecting a bunch of files to start uploading. “I just...” He cut off, blushing slightly. “They’re too intimate to sell. They should be _yours_.”

“I’m not seeing anyone right now.”

Steve blinked at him. “You —” He looked back down at the laptop and slowly frowned. “The way you — I thought you two were serious.” He let out a frustrated breath. “What was that, with you yelling at me for thinking you were... indiscreet?”

“We _were_ serious. I mean, as much as you can be when you live five hundred miles away from each other. But he got a job filming on location in Africa after the new year, and we didn’t want to complicate things any further, what with the run up to my movie and an eight-hour time difference and visits on set always being weird. So we decided to see other people when he left...” He trailed off, realizing he was over-explaining, and Steve was just staring at him with a thoughtful, sad expression.

“God. I’m sorry,” Steve said quietly. “I thought... I was just happy you had someone.” He looked back down at the laptop, where the file uploads had started, though they’d take a few hours to complete, the files were so huge.

Bucky smiled softly at him and touched his arm, then thought better of it and pulled away. “Thanks. It was really nice while it lasted.” He decided they needed more Oreos in this conversation. He reached over to grab a stack of them from the coffee table and set one on Steve’s knee. The diversion made him risk a question to clear up his suspicions about Sam. “Do you? Have someone?”

“No, not for a long time.” Steve picked up the Oreo and twisted one of the cookies free. “I met someone on an ISAF mission in Afghanistan. Uh, the International Security Assistance Force,” he clarified unnecessarily.

That was sufficiently vague, in more ways than just the gender of the person. Bucky worried he was getting into deep water with this, but getting information out of Steve took a bit of pushing, he’d learned. “Things not work out with her? Him?”

Steve huffed out a laugh around the cookie he was crunching. “Classified. _So_ classified. My unit wasn’t even out of the US at the time, it’s that classified. And that’s not what I want from a relationship. I want to be able to tell people ‘we met here’ or something. Not give some BS story, you know? Besides... shit, what was that line? ‘I don’t trust spies. They all lie for money,’ or something?”

 _Jesus._ That sounded so James Bond. And if Steve had his own Vesper, then Bucky needed to back the fuck off. “I _do_ know. Not about fucking spies, but yeah. Bullshit stories...” He held out another Oreo, sort of halfway between Steve’s hand and his mouth, before adding, “Sorry, though. Sounds rough.”

“Thanks.” Steve took the Oreo, leaving Bucky to wonder if the brush of his fingers was an accident or intentional, now that they knew they were both single, or... Without giving Bucky any more hints, Steve nodded to the laptop, saying, “If you don’t want the pics, just delete them. They really are too intimate to be distributed, and I _don’t_ want to hear that you got hacked again.”

Bucky frowned at him, mildly annoyed. “But they’re of just me. And they aren’t actually nudes, so what does it matter?”

Steve frowned at him, stuck the Oreo in his mouth, and tapped on the laptop to open a folder of filenames, rather than thumbnails. He scrolled through, then stopped at one as if he’d memorized the sequential numbers.

When he opened it, Bucky saw why. The picture was _theoretically_ nothing more than any other shirtless photo — not even that much, since the lower edge barely reached Bucky’s shoulders — but the way Steve had framed it, focusing on Bucky’s closed eyes, felt private. Or, as Steve had said, _intimate_. The sort of expression seen by a lover, not by countless anonymous fans.

“Jesus. Steve.” Bucky drew in a breath to say something more, something he probably had no business saying, but when he looked up from the screen and saw Steve’s embarrassed expression, he stopped.

“Yeah. So...” Steve gestured at the screen with the cookie, avoiding Bucky’s eyes. “I’m gonna go shower, if you don’t mind.”

As Steve left the room, Bucky pulled the laptop onto his lap to look through the rest of the shower pictures. And he didn’t quite allow himself to wonder whether Steve was using his shower for the same thing Bucky had or not.

 

~~~

 

Four or five minutes of the coldest water Steve could stand helped to clear his head, and when he finally turned the water temperature back up, he was able — theoretically — to think rationally. Because Bucky was both interested in men _and_ apparently single, and Steve was _very_ interested in Bucky. That hadn’t changed over fifteen years apart. And now Steve was stuck staying in a suite with Bucky, who _wasn’t_ safely in a relationship, and was therefore ten times more dangerous.

God, why hadn’t Steve just _asked?_ Then he could’ve put his foot down about staying at the other hotel, a safe distance away. Or he could’ve demanded another room. Not that he would have, because Nick was already paying enough to have Steve out here. Hell, for these photographs, Steve would’ve been happy to sleep in the back of the damned SUV.

 _There_ was an option. Nice and safe and private. And he’d certainly slept in worse conditions.

After the shower, he put his jeans and T-shirt back on but left his shoes and socks off. He went out into the living room, where he saw the furniture had been rearranged again, with a bed in the once-empty corner. It was a single, thankfully, with barely enough room for Steve to fit on it, much less Steve and anyone else.

“You really didn’t have to go through this trouble for me, Bucky,” Steve said, going to his luggage so he could get clean socks.

“It wasn’t any trouble. Not for me, anyway. And the attendants here are so cheerful, it’s like they _want_ you to make trouble for them.” Bucky grinned up at him from the laptop.

“That explains why you’re here,” Steve shot back with a grin of his own. God, it was so _easy_ to fall back into old rhythms with Bucky, as if they were still half-wild kids at summer camp. He shoved his old socks into his mesh laundry bag, took out clean ones, then went to sit on the cot. Distance still seemed like a good idea.

“Nick knows what to do with trouble. Why do you think he sent you out here?” Bucky looked out from under his hood at Steve from the couch.

Steve let out a huff. “Clearly, you’ve been a bad influence on him. He seems so sensible.”

Bucky grinned and dropped his eyes to the screen for a moment. “Steve, some of these pictures are all right, don’t you think? Not the closeups with the dogtag — those are something else altogether — but the ones where I’m standing?” He turned the laptop at an angle, but not far enough so Steve could see. It was clear he wanted Steve to come sit with him to look at it.

_Self-control, Rogers._

Steve took a deep breath. Self-control. He pulled on his socks and went to lean over the back of the couch, a foot to Bucky’s left. “I’ll leave it to you. I just... picked the best ones to upload to you. But I’m serious, Buck. I don’t even know if I’d _want_ to sell them. They’re too...” _Mine,_ he thought.

Not that he’d say that out loud.

Bucky shook his head. “No, I’m talking about _before_ the sitting and the dogtags. Some of them look enough like ‘exhausted zombie killer,’ I think. Though seriously, the mascara was your only questionable idea all day.” He turned around to face Steve and held up the laptop showing one picture of himself that still looked way too much like the lovechild of Aphrodite and Adonis. “We can find a couple for you to sell, maybe? You’re right about the close-ups, though. Those are just for you.”

“For me?” Steve asked, before his brain could tell his mouth to _stop talking_.

When Steve didn’t take the computer, Bucky set it back down in his lap. “Well, yeah. You took ’em. Even if they were... for someone else.” He pushed his hood back and looked up at Steve with worry in his eyes. “Unless you don’t want them ’cause you think someone will steal them. Or get you in trouble for having something like that of me...”

Steve wanted to accept. He’d locked the pictures into his memory, but memory was fallible, fading with time. He stared at the laptop — not that it was safer than looking at Bucky, because the picture there was enough to make anyone blush. Steve included.

“If something _did_ happen — God, it’s not like I live somewhere that secure. I’ve already had one camera stolen. If these got out...” He folded his arms so he could hide the way his hands clenched to keep from touching Bucky’s shoulder. Had he inched closer, or had Steve? “Besides, I’d feel bad, having them, because they should be for... someone who’s more than just a friend.”

When Steve risked looking over at Bucky, his eyes were on the computer, his teeth worrying his bottom lip. “Right. Okay.” He snapped the laptop closed and tossed it onto the couch cushion next to him, then got up and stretched his back. He walked over to look out the patio doors and spoke with his back turned. “You know, half the stuff they make Jane do for magazines looks like that. Well, almost like that. She’s my friend, and I open up a magazine and have to see that all over the center spread. I don’t know what I would do if I were actually dating her.”

“Maybe it’s different, being on the outside,” Steve said, thinking of the pictures he’d taken of some of his friends, in bed and out. Sometimes they were a surprise, meant for a partner who hadn’t been present for the shoot. Other times, they were just for fun or for art — or because Steve was _convinced_ Sam would make a top-notch model. “Watching those other photographers botch their chances with you just _irritated_ me. I knew you could be so much more.”

Bucky turned around and gestured at the computer. “But look what you did with your chance, and now you don’t even want to keep the pictures!”

Steve couldn’t tell if Bucky was angry or disappointed. Hell, Steve didn’t even know how he himself felt, because he _wanted_ those pictures. He just didn’t feel he had a right to them. “Those pictures belong to someone you _love_ , Bucky. Not to” — he tried for a quiet laugh — “someone you haven’t even seen in fifteen years. Call them a thank you gift for not kicking me out again?”

“ _You_ fucking took them, Steve. They’re _yours_. Whatever fucking happened in that shower, it was for _your_ camera. If you don’t want them, fine, whatever —”

“No!” Steve looked down at the closed laptop, needing to look anywhere but at Bucky. “God. I do. I really do, Bucky, because they might be...” _Perfect. Private. Intimate._ He had to take another breath, wondering why the hell he hadn’t just stayed in the shower. “I do. How about, if you change your mind, you just tell me, and I’ll delete my copies?” He forced a smile and looked at Bucky, meeting his eyes for all of a half-second before looking down again. Striving for a teasing tone, he said, “I don’t need your next partner lurking on the porch step outside my apartment with a baseball bat.”

Bucky turned away to look out the patio doors. “Yeah, okay.” Then he opened them and walked out into the garden.

Steve clenched his hands on the back of the couch. He could go say something to put Bucky at ease, maybe find some humor in the situation, even though there was nothing funny about it. Or he could let it pass, and hopefully they’d just ignore it the way they were both ignoring Steve’s absolute lack of remorse — and the lack of the apology Bucky had wanted.

Or he could tell the truth. Possibly make things worse. Probably get kicked out of the hotel. And then where would he be?

Honestly, where he was a month ago. Bucky’s publicity team would have some extra pictures, and Steve might get royalties, and... that was it. He and Bucky hadn’t talked for fifteen years. They’d been summer camp friends, nothing more. Hell, most people couldn’t even remember what summer camp they’d gone to, much less who’d been there with them.

Steve walked to the open patio doors. Bucky was sprawled on a chaise lounge, eyes closed. Even after watching him for a whole day, Steve didn’t know him well enough — not anymore — to know if he was tense or relaxed, awake or sleeping.

“Buck?” Steve asked quietly.

Bucky’s eyelashes twitched. “What?” It was a simple question, asked neutrally. Steve couldn’t hear anything behind the word.

_Steady, Rogers._

“I want the pictures,” Steve said as calmly as he could manage. “I think you’re —” He stared down at the patio stones, absently studying the curved, geometric designs. “No. You’re beautiful, but I don’t give a damn about what you look like.”

Bucky opened his eyes and squinted over at Steve.

“I’ve had a” — Steve faltered, thinking _crush_ was too juvenile a word, but he couldn’t think of anything better — “a _thing_ for you since summer camp. Only I’m not going to be _that fan_. I’d rather be what I’ve always been. Your friend.”

“A thing?” Bucky sat up and tucked his feet under himself to sit cross-legged, leaving the long part of his chair empty. “What kind of thing?”

“A —” Steve had to take hold of the doorjamb to keep from stepping back. “You know. I _like_ you,” he said, before realizing he sounded like he was twelve. He looked away with a sharp laugh, wondering if it was too late to run. “Look, I didn’t even want to say anything, but those pictures — I just wanted you to know, they mean a lot to me. So, thanks.”

There. Good. Steve backed up and looked around the suite, trying to think of where he could go without being obvious that he was running away.

 _Iguana yoga,_ he thought. Not that he wanted anything to do with iguanas, but even a crazy spa had to have a gym. He went right for his luggage, thinking the gym was a perfect escape. He hadn’t worked out worth a damn for three days. And there was his excuse.

Steve heard Bucky come in from the garden and shut the door. “Jesus, Steve... What’re you doing? Don’t leave, for Christ’s sake. Not before I can...” Bucky came around in front of Steve and tried to look him in the face. “Hey. Hold up. Gimme a second here. I didn’t even know you liked guys.”

“It’s fine. Not that fan, remember?” Steve finally found his workout clothes and stood back up. “And I’m just going to the gym. I’ve been bad about it for a couple of days, and I really shouldn’t do that.”

“Fuck. Come on. Your hand is shaking. Steve, listen. You have _never_ been ‘that fan’. Never, in all the years we’ve known each other, have I thought of you as a fan, _at all_. Jesus, you were my _only_ friend for at least six years of my life. It feels so good to be around you again I’ve been falling all over myself. Can’t for the life of me stay mad. Which is saying something.” He smiled, his eyebrows high. “And Jesus, you are fucking magic and can just break me open in front of a camera and everything just spills out of me, and then you capture it on film and...” He ran his hands through his hair. “Fuck. I’m doing this wrong.” He took a deep breath. “Those pictures... They were for you. Whatever you drew out of me in the shower, it was for you. Not for the camera, _you._ ”

Every word soothed Steve’s fears just a little more, until he was able to breathe easily again. “So, we’re okay, then?” he asked, giving Bucky a real, relaxed smile for the first time in what felt like forever.

Bucky looked confused. “Okay? Yeah... I was hoping for more than okay, but sure. We’re okay.”

 _More than okay?_ Steve wondered, faltering for a moment. “More than okay, then,” he said, hoping to get Bucky to smile back at him. “Come on. Come with me to the gym. You’ve probably got a personal trainer who’s going to make life hell for you when you’re done with this vacation, right?”

Bucky took a step back with a smirk pulling at one side of his mouth. “Yeah, I guess...”

Relieved, Steve said, “Go get changed. I’ll see if they’ve got actual weights or if we’re stuck lifting iguanas. How many iguanas you think you can bench press, Barnes?”

Bucky’s smile went wide and his eyes gleamed with amusement. “More than you, punk. Cybernetic arm, remember?”


	9. Chapter 9

**Thursday, April 10, 2014**

The gym was everything Bucky hated, from the soothing atmospheric music to the windows overlooking the tranquil koi pond, thought-provoking rock garden, and delicately energetic waterfalls. He knew that was what they were, because they were labelled with little signs illuminated by white Christmas lights strung everywhere. And poor Steve stood in the middle of a sea of giant yoga balls and trendy elliptical machines, looking like a lost golden retriever.

A really, _really_ hot golden retriever. Bucky was tempted to tell Steve that his shirt was a size too small, but Bucky wasn’t that stupid. Instead, he said something about his iPod and went to deal with the music. Sometimes, being a celebrity had its perks.

By the time he got back to the gym, _his_ music was playing — a snapshot of his younger days, before all this autotuned shit he had to pretend to enjoy while making publicity appearances at clubs. Maybe pop was energetic and upbeat, but he couldn’t concentrate working out to it. Classic grunge like Nirvana, Mudhoney, and Pearl Jam interlaced with Riot Grrrl bands like Sleater Kinney, Bikini Kill, and L7 were more his speed.

Apparently, Steve agreed. He’d found the corner with the free weights and was contentedly losing himself in whatever workout routine he preferred.

Bucky started with the treadmill to clear his head. He’d been wrong-footed when, after they’d talked about how they felt about each other, Steve had wanted to go to the gym. Bucky figured, after an admission like his, there would at least have been some sort of... physical response. Not that he expected Steve to fall in his arms swooning or anything, but — well, maybe Bucky _had_ been in one too many rom-coms in his youth, and his expectations were skewed.

Or maybe he’d misunderstood. Steve could have meant to say that he _used to_ like Bucky when they were young. Maybe he only wanted to be friends after all.

Not that Bucky could blame him; dating a closeted celebrity had its definite downsides. Hell, _being_ a closeted celebrity was a fucking nightmare. He figured he’d just have to let Steve take the lead on this, see where he wanted it to go.

After about twenty minutes of trying not to watch Steve do arm curls, Bucky moved on to bench pressing stupid amounts of weight to work his shoulder muscles. Between one press and the next, he saw Steve looking down at him with an indulgent smile.

“A machine? Really, Bucky?” he challenged. “What’s the matter? Can’t bench press without rails to guide you?”

Bucky didn’t stop his rhythm, just spoke his words when he had the breath to spare. “Fuck you, Rogers. The weight on this thing is obscene. I’m not gonna work without a spotter, and you were busy.”

“And now, I’m not. Come on. I’ll spot you, then we’ll trade. You’re just gonna break the poor machine, and then how will the iguanas work out?”

“With rocks, like their grandads used to.” Bucky lowered the bar gently, and Steve put out his hand to help him up — which, of course, he took. The warmth and strength of his hand made Bucky realize how little they had actually touched so far.

Steve pulled Bucky up to his feet and went back to the free weights, where one lone bench was set up for heavy lifting. “So, tell me the truth,” Steve said as they loaded the bar for Bucky. “Do you hate this? Working out, I mean. Is it only for your contracts?”

“Well, it sucks a lot more when there’s a certain amount of muscle I have to add or weight I have to lose, though working toward a goal helps me focus. But with this thing” — he pointed at his left arm — “I figure I’ve gotta learn to like it somehow, because I can’t ever stop.” He looked over at Steve as he locked weights in place. “What about you?”

Steve laughed and went around behind the bench, leaning over to watch as Bucky lay back. “Anything’s better than physical therapy. At least here I can yell at myself for not making my goals. And Sam, back home? He’s great. We train for marathons together, only he prefers to go a little slower than me. I always liked speed.”

“You’ve done physical therapy then?” Bucky took his time grabbing hold of the bar, because from his vantage point, Steve looked even more unfairly muscled and beautifully toned. Why the fuck were they at the gym? And clothed?

“A little. Need help lifting it off?” Steve asked, reaching for the bar.

Bucky checked his grip one more time. “Yeah, just on the right side.”

Steve took hold of the bar, midway and on the right, and together they lifted it off the rack. “It was a grenade. It tore muscles, ligaments, that sort of thing.” He shrugged, staying close without hovering as Bucky started his set. “It’s nothing compared to what you went through. I read the article in _Scientific American_. Do I need to watch your breathing?”

Bucky exhaled hard, which made him realize he’d been holding his breath, which made him laugh. “Yeah, I guess so. I tend to forget if I’m not careful.”

“All you celebrities are delicate fucking snowflakes,” Steve deadpanned, though one corner of his mouth kept twitching up.

“Oh, all the other celebrities you hang out with also need your help breathing?” Bucky was pretty sure Steve was actually half the reason he was forgetting, but he’d let that go for now.

“The only other ‘celebrities’ I get close to are the ones I’m hauling out of Sam’s bar when they get out of line. Otherwise, I’m always in the pen with the other photographers, using my height to an unfair advantage as best I can,” he said wryly. He let go of the bar and warned, “This time, breathe.”

“Yes, sir.” Bucky did as he was told, and that rep was easier. “Sam’s got a bar? Where?”

“It’s in Brooklyn, off Atlantic Avenue. Not exactly your territory, but it’s nice. Kind of dark and quiet, with the two of us playing security.” Steve’s grin flashed to life. “We get a lot of military there. So maybe you’d fit in, if you can sneak away from your handlers and not get in trouble.”

“Nat doesn’t allow sneaking away. It’s actually impossible to lose her. At least when I’m in New York. But she fits in everywhere and might actually like a military bar. Can we go sometime?”

“Think you can behave yourself?” Steve leaned down a little to meet Bucky’s gaze. “I’d hate to throw your ass out, Barnes, but I will, if you get out of line.”

“Depends...” _Whether or not hitting on the bouncer is a punishable offense._ Bucky shook his head. Steve had brought them to a public place right after having what felt to Bucky like a revealing conversation about their mutual attraction. Clear sign to take it slow. “If you think you can take me.”

“You want to go a few rounds?” Steve challenged. “If you keep not-breathing like that, I won’t even need gloves.”

Bucky huffed out another breath and smiled through his grimace. “Sure. Obviously someone needs to knock you down to size...”

Steve laughed. “Any time, pal. Just not where the iguanas can see. Don’t want to traumatize them when I kick your ass.”

Bucky laughed hard enough that Steve had to grab hold of the bar to steady him. They lifted it up on the rack together, and Bucky just lay on the bench for a moment, staring up at Steve who was bent over and looking down at him. Bucky was pretty sure they looked more than a little goofy sharing a smile like that, but he couldn’t begin to care. Steve seemed more relaxed than he’d been most of the day, and his playful banter felt good. Bucky just hoped to God they could keep it up.

 

~~~

 

All through the workout, Steve felt a high that had nothing to do with endorphins and everything to do with finally clearing the air between him and Bucky. Sure, they hadn’t addressed the ‘apology’ issue, but Steve wasn’t going to bring it up, and he suspected Bucky wouldn’t, either. Instead, it felt like the last fifteen years fell away, leaving them as the friends they’d once been.

No, maybe it was even better, because Bucky knew how Steve felt, and he hadn’t walked away. And Steve was finally in good enough shape to keep up with him physically, rather than having to stay at the shallow end of the pool or sit in the grass and draw while Bucky and the other — healthier — kids played sports.

Hell, Steve couldn’t remember ever smiling like that through a workout, and it was only when he finally got onto the treadmill and started pushing himself that he stopped grinning like an idiot. As he ran, the last of his tension fell away, and his relationship with Bucky settled into a new place deep inside. Friends, still, but friends with a history. A solid foundation.

Maybe even solid enough to build something on, if they were willing.

And that was where Steve hesitated. They came from two different worlds, and they still lived in those different worlds. And Steve had seen what happened when a celebrity — especially an A-lister like Bucky — decided to slum it with a nobody like Steve. It never ended well for either party, and that was without factoring in the same sex issue.

Steve wasn’t willing to cost Bucky his career. Equally important, though, was the fact that Steve wasn’t willing to _hide_. And that meant they’d never be more than friends.

Which put him back to where they’d been a month ago.

No. A month ago, they’d gone fifteen years without talking, and their first meeting had ended in a fight. This was better.

He stopped running after an hour, feeling a whole lot better, not just physically but emotionally. He _wanted_ Bucky, but sex had never been as important as a connection — and he’d find a way to be happy with a friendship-only connection with Bucky. He slowed to a walk and grinned in thanks when Bucky brought over a bottle of some hideously expensive designer water.

“Thanks. Shower, then dinner?” Steve asked — and then damn near choked on the water when he realized the innuendo in what he’d said.

Bucky’s grin was shark-like. “Sure, just leave the camera at the door this time, eh?”

_Fuck._

Steve didn’t need that mental image. Worse, he _had_ that image, both in his imagination and on his laptop. He leaned against the treadmill, wondering how the _hell_ he could explain, because Bucky had apparently misunderstood... something. God.

Bucky smirked, and his eyes went impish, crow’s feet showing. “Kidding. I’ve spent enough time in a bathroom with you today; find your own.”

Steve had no idea if it was relief or disappointment that made his laugh stutter. Maybe both. “Asshole,” he said, getting off the treadmill to give Bucky a playful shove. “For that, I should abandon you here to eat organic bugs while I go back to town for real food.”

Bucky’s eyes went wide in mock shock as he gasped and shoved Steve back. “You wouldn’t, you monster!”

“Aww, what’s the matter, soldier? Afraid of a little ant?” Steve teased, wrapping an arm around Bucky’s shoulders to pull him off-balance.

“Ooh, low blow, Captain. Ants are my weakness.” Bucky’s arm snaked around Steve’s hips, and he braced for a throw of some kind, but it didn’t come. Bucky just started walking down the hall like that, their arms around each other. “You know, Cap, I’ve been taking orders from you for a long time. You’d think by now —”

“You’d be trained?”

Bucky gave him a dirty look at the interruption. “By now my obedience would be rewarded.”

This time, thank God, Steve was smart enough to shut his mouth and _keep it shut_ while his mind presented far too many answers to that — especially with Bucky hanging onto him. The two of them fell into step as easily as they once had, when it had been Bucky helping Steve to walk straight on the rugged, woodsy paths between their camp classes. But he had to say _something_ , so he finally settled for, “Looks like you’ll have to try harder, Barnes.”

“Sir, yes, sir.” Bucky smirked so hard the response lost all its crispness, but Steve’s breath caught, and he nearly lost his step. He had to shove Bucky away just to regain some sense of balance.

“How the hell did you not get kicked right out of Basic?” Steve managed to ask, complete with a laugh that sounded almost credible.

Bucky was grinning like the cat who ate the canary. “My drill sergeant was secretly a fan. Had me sign autographs for his whole family.”

“Special fucking snowflake,” Steve accused, trying not to stare at the way Bucky’s whole face changed when he fought down the urge to laugh and failed miserably. He had always been a damned good actor, but watching Bucky act, Steve had felt one step removed from Bucky’s characters because he kept looking for the real thing. Now that he had it, he’d fight to keep it, no matter what.

Not that his resolve made it any easier to go into the guest bathroom, alone, rather than following Bucky into the master bedroom. And only the fact that he really was hungry kept him from hiding in the shower until he was certain Bucky had gone to dinner alone.

 

~~~

 

Most of the suites Bucky stayed in had two or more bedrooms, so he really wasn’t at fault for walking out into the living room and catching Steve in his underwear. Not consciously, anyway. What his subconscious did was none of his damned business — except for a bit of gratitude, because the sight of Steve bending down to put on blue jeans, wearing nothing but boxer-briefs, seared right into Bucky’s memory like the afterimage of a flashbulb.

When Steve straightened up, flustered and blushing beautifully, Bucky was presented with another full view of the tattoo, which he couldn’t help but comment on this time. He hoped doing so would relieve some of the awkwardness. “Sorry, Steve. But God, that tattoo is gorgeous. How long have you had it?”

Steve glanced over his shoulder, though he kept his back turned as he pulled his jeans over his hips and zipped the fly. “Just about a year. It’s from a young adult book. I did the cover art. It’s supposed to be a water dragon.”

“This is _your_ work?” Bucky couldn’t help but move closer, wanting to touch, but doubting he’d be allowed. “Jesus. It’s fantastic.” He kept his fingers a couple inches away from the brightly tinted skin.

“You’re just saying that because you didn’t have to listen to me complaining the whole time it was healing. Stupid placement on my part. I sleep on my back.” He picked up his shirt off the bed and turned, giving Bucky a quick grin. “Sam threatened me if I ever thought of getting another. I _had_ planned on getting a fire dragon on the left side, if the author did a sequel.”

_Fuck. Did it get any hotter than that?_

“Why wait for the author? And fuck Sam. He can deal. Or you can stay in one of my bedrooms where no one will hear you bitching.”

Steve laughed. “I’ll think about it. I’d have to draw it first,” he said, pulling his T-shirt over his head, just as Bucky caught sight of scars on the right side of his chest — small but deep. And thick.

“Hey, what’s —” Bucky chuckled at showing so much interest in Steve’s body. “Sorry, you’ve gotten to stare at my body all day, so I get a glimpse of yours and I get nosy.” He smiled at Steve in what he hoped was a charming but sincere way. “Is all that from the grenade?”

“Some of them, yeah,” Steve said, giving Bucky a wry grin as he pulled the shirt back off. The right side of his torso and arm was peppered with small white scars. “Shrapnel.”

“There’s more?”

Steve huffed. “Yes, there is, and no, you can’t see,” he said, though the firm tone was softened by his amused grin. He pulled his shirt back on.

“Sorry. Like I said, nosy. Just be glad I don’t have a camera in my hands.” Bucky looked up at Steve’s face. “So, a grenade. What happened?” Bucky was sad to lose such a nice view, but he couldn’t take Steve out to dinner otherwise.

Steve shrugged. “Bad timing on my part. The surgery afterwards was worse, honestly.”

Bucky flexed his cybernetic hand. “Yeah, I know how that goes.”

“I eventually got two nurses’ phone numbers out of it,” Steve said with a sharp laugh. He shoved his feet into his sneakers, then sat down on the edge of his cot to tie the laces. “Which, me being me, I ended up threatening to report for unprofessionalism. Besides, they were enlisted,” he added with another grin. “Sergeant.”

Bucky had a stupidly strong urge to push Steve back onto the bed and straddle his hips, but instead he took a deep breath and rose to the bait that was actually on offer. “Of course you would, you trumped up little shit. Baby officers are such pains in the ass.”

Steve burst out laughing and got up, and that sense of disorientation hit Bucky, because Steve was an inch _taller_ than him, instead of six inches shorter and about fifty pounds lighter. “If that’s how you’re gonna be,” Steve said, sidestepping to head to the bar, where he snatched up the keys to the SUV, “you can just eat ants for dinner, Barnes.”

“Please, Captain, I’ll be good. Let me take you out somewhere.” The words were out of Bucky’s mouth before he’d thought it through. How could he even attempt to make that happen?

Steve blinked at him, and if not for the very slight flush on his cheeks, Bucky would’ve believed the _you must be crazy_ look was genuine. “What?”

Bucky hesitated before answering, his mind racing. “I wanna take you out to dinner. We didn’t exercise enough today to allow for drive-thru twice in a row. There’s gotta be some restaurant around here with a patio and, like, no lighting or something. We can ask Mr. Cheerful.”

That got him another blink, this time without the adorable blush. “Mr. Cheerful?”

“The attendant. High-end places like this have to have fucking stellar concierges. That’s the sort of thing you’re paying for without knowing it. He’ll have already done the research, I assure you.” Bucky started for the door before he realized Steve hadn’t said yes yet. “You wanna?”

Steve walked towards him, meeting and holding his gaze. “Two conditions. First, wear a jacket, and keep that arm hidden. Second, you do _exactly_ as I say.”

It was Bucky’s turn to blink. Steve had always been aggressive and bossy, but was this a show of actual dominance? Because Bucky had no idea how he felt about that. It was fucking hot, but it was a bit of a different dynamic with Steve now because Bucky couldn’t just pick him up and throw him anymore.

“I’m not bringing you back to Fury in pieces,” Steve said as he stopped in front of Bucky. “I’ve done security work before. If I say move, you move. And if I say get in the car and drive away, you go. I’ll be fine. Understand?”

_Right. Bouncer._

Bucky could totally handle having Steve function as security for the night. In fact, he wondered if that was half why Nick allowed Steve to come out here by himself. Bucky was willing to bet good money that Nick did a full background check on Steve before even returning his first phone call.

Bucky took a deep — and much needed — breath before speaking. “Yes, sir.”

Steve grinned. “Good. Then let’s go find this ‘Mr. Cheerful’ of yours and see if he can beat burgers and milkshakes.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Thursday, April 10, 2014**

Steve had been more than a little apprehensive about going out tonight — not just because he’d be taking an A-list celebrity out for dinner without bodyguards, but about what he suspected was... well, a _date_. He didn’t think he could cope with seeing Bucky across a candlelit white tablecloth, and not just because restaurants with multi-page wine lists weren’t his thing. No, it was hard enough to keep from wanting to date Bucky every damned time he turned on that charming smile or started teasing...

But this? This was all right. Maybe more than all right, because it was the type of place where they would’ve ended up as teenagers: the patio of a barbecue smokehouse with standing heaters, checked plastic tablecloths, and no chance that anyone would expect James Barnes to be here. They arrived in time for a general migration indoors, where live music was just starting, leaving them to share the patio with two other groups who were hurrying to finish their meals.

Hell, it was worth the risk of public exposure just to see Bucky fighting to eat an overstuffed shredded barbecue beef sandwich — and mostly losing.

The third time Bucky’s sandwich fell apart, Steve couldn’t stop laughing. He dropped his own sandwich back onto the plate and hid behind a napkin, trying to catch his breath. “Sorry, but — I’m pretty sure nothing in your life has prepared you for food us _normal_ people eat,” he teased, kicking Bucky’s foot under the table. “Did you need me to cut that up for you?”

Bucky glared daggers at him, but his mouth was all smirk. “Fuck you, Rogers. My kitchen is filled with ‘normal’ food. Nat had to set a limit on the number of times I can order pizza in a month. And really, this shouldn’t be harder to eat than a pastrami sandwich, but the barbeque sauce has soaked into the bread.”

“Recon, Barnes.” Steve nodded in the direction of one of the other tables. “See there? Four sandwiches on rolls, none on Texas toast. Eat like the locals. You’ll never regret it,” he said, tapping his own sandwich, with its sauce-proof surface of the crusty roll.

Bucky grumbled under his breath something about ‘special forces up your ass’ and took a long sip of his mojito. He had ordered Steve a margarita, but it sat untouched next to the iced tea Steve had wanted. Steve couldn’t help feeling guilty about not being able to stop the waitress from bringing it, but he was _not_ getting drunk tonight. Fury would have his head if he got drunk and let Bucky do something outrageous.

Bucky gave up on trying to pick up the mass of beef and bread and specifically didn’t look at Steve as he picked up his fork. “So, what the fuck have you been doing for the past fifteen years? At least tell me about the parts that aren’t classified and involve you fucking Navy SEALs...”

Steve choked on his iced tea. _“Huh?”_ he got out, going for his napkin again. “Navy SEALs?”

Bucky looked up from his deconstructed sandwich and paused with the fork halfway to his mouth. “What? Didn’t you say you dated someone in Special Forces?”

It took Steve a few seconds to remember. Then he laughed and shook his head. “Not _our_ Special Forces. She’s MI6. We had a joint operation going for almost a year. Her name’s Peggy Carter, and if I say one more word, she’ll probably show up on the roof across the street to shoot me.”

Bucky’s eyes went wide, but his mouth pulled itself into a grin. “Another sharpshooter, eh? Fantastic. So you guys were serious? What happened? Did she leave you for James Bond?”

Steve huffed out a laugh. “The op ended, and she went back home. We talked about — you know, more, but it never happened. I think she went on to become a Station Chief somewhere exotic, though her letters are always cleared through their security, so no idea where.”

A moment of silence fell over the table, and Steve watched Bucky push his food around his plate. Which meant he wasn’t surprised that when Bucky spoke again, his eyes were still cast downward and his voice reserved. “So, have there been others?” A heartbeat after he finished speaking, Bucky looked up through his lashes at Steve, his brow furrowed.

“In college.” Steve resisted the urge to shred his napkin and took a drink of his iced tea instead. The margarita was damned tempting. “We were together for almost the whole time. Same class, same major, almost the same schedule.”

Bucky’s face was unreadable, aside from his look becoming intent. “That sounds serious. What happened there? Did you leave her for the Army?”

“Him,” Steve said quietly. “Before we graduated, he told me he’d gotten engaged the previous summer. His family didn’t know about us.”

“Fuck.” Bucky leaned back in his chair, his face all sympathy. “Christ, that sounds awful. I’m sorry.” He nudged Steve’s foot under the table, gently.

“It was a long time ago.” Steve smiled at Bucky. “And that’s it, other than a few dates here and there. Not exactly magazine-worthy material, I guess.” As soon as he said it, he regretted it, but... well, there was no sense pretending Bucky’s love life — at least, the female half of it — hadn’t been splashed across magazines, newspapers, and websites for the last few years.

The frown came back. “Magazine...” Bucky huffed, either amused or annoyed. It was hard to tell. “Tabloids make shit up all the time. They see you hanging out with someone, and they want it to mean you’re fucking them nonstop. I’ve had less than ten relationships total, and most of them never made it into a magazine.”

 _Ten,_ Steve thought, slotting that in with what he knew of Bucky’s career, military service, and his extended medical recovery. What Buck considered a ‘relationship’ probably barely qualified as ‘dating’ for Steve.

No, that was unfair. Steve knew that time had nothing to do with emotional connection. Sure, he moved slowly — too slowly, even — but most people didn’t. Besides, _ten_ was a lot less than what the magazines implied... which left Steve wondering if there were others who Bucky had slept with and not bothered to pretend meant anything more.

_Stop!_

He scrambled to find a safer topic of conversation and finally asked, “So, what about you and Jane?”

Swallowing another sip of mojito, Bucky smiled wide, but there was a hint of sharpness to his voice, and his eyes ranged around the patio and their table, never resting on anything. “The magazines _love_ Jane. They think we’re fucking like bunny rabbits. ‘James and Jane. They’re _so close_ , they _must_ be together.’” He rolled his eyes. “It’s been going on for a year, since pictures from on set leaked.”

Bucky’s smile turned fond, but his eyes were still elsewhere. “I love her. We have so much fun together. And the chemistry is there. I mean, you can see it on screen. She likes to needle me as much as you do.” He looked up from playing with his fork to smirk at Steve for a moment. “But no, to answer what I think was your question, we’ve never dated. Never fucked. Slept together a few times, in the same bed. Movie marathons in my trailer or after a night of drinking in L.A. or Vegas. But she was never interested in me — I’m not her type — and my head was turned by someone else on set.” He blinked and lost the narrative voice he’d adopted. “And now we’re really close friends. She’d like you, actually.”

Steve lost his breath then found it again as he listened, the whole time telling himself he had no place feeling jealous. He wasn’t dating Bucky. He’d _never_ date Bucky. And if Bucky could find someone who made him smile like that — Jane or someone else — then Steve genuinely wished him luck.

He refused to think that the way his own life was going, _he_ wouldn’t find someone like that.

“I’d say I’d love to meet her, but any photographer gets nervous when he’s outnumbered by celebrities, especially ones who are armed,” he said, nodding at the fork still in Bucky’s hand.

Bucky looked down as if he hadn’t realized he’d been gesturing with it, then turned it around in his hand and made a stabbing motion. “Well, Jane is only ever armed with her intellect and her wit, but both are sharp as throwing knives and just as fast.” He set down the fork with a precise motion, keeping his eyes trained on it. “You should definitely meet her. And while you’re at it, show her some of your pictures from this weekend. I bet she’d wanna work with you, too.”

Before Bucky could say another word, Steve cut in, “That’s not why I’m doing this, Buck. Besides, she’s got her own publicity team to deal with.”

“I didn’t say it was, Steve. But do you know how hard it is to be a female actress in your thirties and not feel degraded every time you go into a photoshoot? She’s not matronly enough to just do glamor shots in haute couture, but she’s old enough that they don’t do the cute bubblegum thing anymore. It’s sex all the time. She’s dying to do something different. And if I didn’t know you from Adam and walked into that sweater photoshoot this morning blind, I’d be recommending you to her right now anyway.”

It made sense. And despite the guilt Steve still felt at using his friendship for business... Bucky was right. So Steve managed a smile and asked, “Think she’d be okay with zombies?”

A grin spread wide across Bucky’s whole face. “Still on the zombie thing? I love it. Sure.” He leaned forward, slapped his hand down on the table, and stared straight at Steve with that intent look. “Seriously, though. This is how it works. We all share info about who we like working with. And when Nick gets a look at what we’ve done this weekend, it won’t just be me talking up my friend. Okay?”

Steve’s smile was much more genuine and relieved. “Okay. We can probably do a second shoot any time. We’ll just have to get her in a uniform. Much as I like the _Resident Evil_ look of shorts and a halter top, you don’t fight zombies like that. The infection rate’s much too high.”

“Oh, God. She would look so hot in a uniform. Jesus. She’d just _own_ it. And by the end of the day we’d all be down and giving her twenty.”

“Maybe _you_ , Sergeant,” Steve said with a sharp grin. “Technically, Agent Carter outranked me, but we worked together just fine. Jane and I can probably handle you, no problem.”

Bucky was about to say something, but then he stopped, mid-breath it seemed, mouth open. “Ah.” He swallowed and took a quick breath. “Yeah, well... she can handle anyone, so don’t get ideas that she’s gonna just roll over for you like I do.”

God. Steve did _not_ need that mental image — especially not with the memories of Peggy so fresh in his mind, and what he knew about Jane Foster, and _Bucky_. He had to struggle to find a polite, friendly smile all over again. “You’ve got two days to prove you can behave yourself, so I can show you off to her. Think you can manage?” he asked, the whole time telling himself to _shut the hell up_ , because this was _not_ helping.

Bucky raised his eyebrows high and blinked, smiling, as if pretending to be offended. “Oh, really? Is _that_ how it is? Depends on if you’re gonna play fair and not strip me down, get me wet, and shove things in my mouth.” His smile went shark-like. “At least not in front of a camera.” He leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Keep that to a minimum, and I’ll do whatever you want, boss.”

Steve followed right up until _not in front of a camera_ , at which point everything fell apart. Was Bucky saying he wanted — or that Steve should —

_No!_

He had to mentally repeat it a couple of times, but he finally was able to give a casual shrug and say, “Next time, it’s out in the desert. That’s playing fair, right?”

Rolling his eyes, Bucky leaned in another inch and pitched his voice slightly lower. “That just makes everything more hot and dirty, with more chance of getting caught.” Then he leaned back and finished his drink, leaving Steve to silently contemplate killing Bucky in his sleep. Because by the end of this photoshoot, one of them was going to be dead.

 

~~~

 

Bucky felt a bit giddy as they got back to their suite. They’d successfully gone out to eat without getting mobbed — not that it was ever as bad as Steve seemed to think. Folks never expected famous people to actually exist in the real world, and Bucky’s policy, when he got weird glances or stares, was to notice the person staring, then look behind him as if to see what they were looking at, then go back to what he was doing. Turning up his collar or pulling his hat down at that point would be a fatal move.

But more importantly, the date with Steve had gone well. Bucky wondered if maybe he shouldn’t think about it as a date, but that was what it had felt like. Steve hadn’t even tasted the margarita, but he was taking the bodyguard thing pretty seriously, so Bucky figured it wasn’t about letting his guard down with Bucky — because he did. Steve had actually gotten a bit flirty, in a bossy way that brought out the brat in Bucky. Though, to be fair, that was a dynamic they had been working with for a long time. And Bucky wasn’t sure if Steve was fully aware of the shift towards more innuendo on his own part or if Bucky had just influenced him enough that there was no escape.

Either way, it felt awesome.

“Hey, Steve. Wanna build a fire out back?” he asked, taking off his baseball cap but leaving his leather jacket on. He hadn’t missed the way Steve kept eyeing it all night, as if he liked how Bucky looked in it.

“Can I trust you around fire?” Steve countered slyly. “If you burn the place down, we’re stuck sleeping in the SUV.”

Bucky grinned at the thought of the windows getting steamy with their breath as they laid out in the back like they were camping. “You’re the one with the pyromaniac tendencies, as my sweater confirms.” He went to look out the glass doors to see if there was wood stacked somewhere. “I was a Boy Scout. Well, no. My dad and I did some of the activities for merit badges when neither of us was on a job. But I _was_ damned good at building a fire, once. It’s like riding a bicycle, right?”

“Oh, God. No. You, stay,” Steve ordered, pointing at the couch — which the hotel _hadn’t_ removed, unfortunately. Abandoning the camera on the bar, Steve picked up his lighter and went  out to the patio.

Bucky refused to be left inside. Instead, he followed Steve, then leaned against the doorframe and deliberately pouted. “Come on. I meant it. I was good at this. Lemme help.”

Steve was already crouched down by the firepit, examining the grate. “Remember when you cut your drama class and came with me to painting, and your ‘help’ ended up with both of us covered in blue and green oil paints?”

“Dude, that was as much your fault as mine. Also, it was fucking fun.”

Though Steve’s back was turned, Bucky knew he was silently laughing. “You’re a walking disaster when you try to ‘help’. But if you can promise you’re not cursed with tech, you can bring out my laptop for me. I want to start uploading everything to my cloud storage, only it’ll take most of the night.”

“If you ever actually _let_ me help, things wouldn’t get so out of hand, jerk.” Bucky decidedly did _not_ storm off to get the laptop and hard drive, but when he brought it all back to set it on the chaise lounge, he was still annoyed with Steve’s ribbing. “And of course I’m not cursed with tech, idiot. I fucking have some of the most high tech shit out there attached to my fucking body.”

Steve looked back from stacking firewood, then stood up, saying, “I’m sorry. I just...” He looked at Bucky’s left arm. “Sometimes, I forget. Here, you do this. I’ll set up the upload,” he said, offering Bucky the lighter.

Bucky blinked for a second, then took the lighter and knelt down. He didn’t start working on the fire right away because he was still processing Steve actually forgetting about the fact that Bucky was a cyborg.

Also, he hadn’t really expected Steve to let him build the fire. That wasn’t how it used to work. Steve had always had a very ‘I can do it myself’ attitude, and Bucky used to have to cajole him into accepting help, even when it was clear he needed it. But Bucky had been good at that part. In fact, he’d been the _only_ person who was. And here Steve had just given up on something and let Bucky do it. It was a little thing, but it felt big. Bucky was oddly proud of him. Maybe Steve just didn’t have as much to prove anymore.

“Thanks, Steve.”

“You can start on my laundry next,” Steve said, concentrating on typing, though Bucky caught the hint of a smile in his tone.

Heh. Right. Still a jerk. Why was that so fucking endearing?

“Glad some things never change, you lazy bastard.” Bucky could feel his grin spreading, even as he tried to rein it in. It was a good thing he was turned away, constructing a perfect tepee out of logs and filling it with kindling. Not that Steve was paying attention. Bucky heard him get up and walk into the suite and come back a minute later, just as it was time to try lighting the fire. “I wish we had something a bit longer, but...”

“Longer?” Steve asked blankly. He walked over to crouch down next to Bucky, asking,  “Oh, God, what’d you do?”

An exasperated sigh left Bucky before he could help it. Just because he was famous didn’t mean he was inept at everyday activities. It wasn’t like people wiped his ass for him. “Jesus, nothing, I was just about to —”

He looked over and lost his words for a second, because Steve was looking very seriously at him through a pair of glasses. The black plastic frames were awful, but somehow they didn’t look too bad — not at all. The prescription didn’t seem too strong, either. Bucky couldn’t see any distortion through them.

“About to?” Steve asked curiously, as if he wasn’t crouching four inches from Bucky, looking like the world’s sexiest first grade teacher ever.

“Um, light the fire.” He looked from Steve to the lighter in his hand, then back. “ _Glasses?_ You never wore glasses, even back when you were... when we were kids.”

“It’s only for up-close computer work. I started getting headaches. Can’t you use your left hand? Or should I find a stick or something?”

“How the fuck do you even look good in glasses? Jesus.” Bucky turned away to be able to think straight for a second. “But yeah, it’s about being able to get the flame in the center. One of those kitchen lighters, is what I meant.”

“I — Yeah, they’re — glasses,” Steve answered blankly. “Should I go find another lighter? I can do that.”

“No, it’s fine.” Bucky reached out to rest his left hand on Steve’s knee, keeping him close. With his right, Bucky put the lighter to paper and dry grass in three different places.

It took a little while for the fire to creep through the tinder, and Bucky had to light it in another couple of spots, but finally the bigger split logs started to catch along the edges. Steve stayed there, unmoving, and Bucky slowly became aware that he could feel the tension in Steve’s leg, as if Steve were fighting to stay still. When Bucky glanced over — and, _fuck_ , those glasses — Steve was watching the fire intently.

Curious, Bucky pressed his fingertips against Steve’s leg. With the way Steve’s knee was bent, his jeans were stretched tight over muscles that were a lot more solid than Bucky had expected, despite their time in the gym earlier. Then he forgot all about that, because the sensors in his fingertips caught the fast, sharp rhythm of Steve’s racing pulse.

Bucky couldn’t tell if that was a good thing or a bad thing. He spoke softly, leaning slightly in towards Steve’s ear. “You all right?”

“Just waiting to see if you’re going to set the roof on fire,” Steve answered, and though it came out light, Bucky could feel the way he tensed even more, as if with a shiver.

_Good thing._

At least, Bucky wanted to believe that. Steve was fucking hard to read, even when he didn’t have a camera in front of his face. Actually, sometimes it was easier when there _was_ a camera, because then Steve forgot to hide his reactions. Otherwise, everything seemed to hit him with only a glancing blow, no matter what Bucky threw his way.

What was the word? _Deflection_.

But during the shower photoshoot — hell, Bucky’s eyes had been closed for most of it, at least towards the end, but the photos themselves spoke volumes of how Steve had been looking at him, and it _wasn’t_ with professional detachment.

And at dinner, Steve had confirmed that he was actually queer — that he’d been in a relationship with a guy. Bucky hadn’t been sure, after the ‘thing’ conversation had gone nowhere, whether Steve had meant it as being interested in dating Bucky or not. But Steve had clearly been in love with a man and wasn’t passing that relationship off as a ‘one-time thing’ or any of the other bullshit people tried when hiding from themselves, like the asshole he’d been seeing clearly had done. All of that gave Bucky hope.

Steve broke the moment first, pulling away from Bucky’s hand so he could get to his feet. “Should be safe. You need me to Photoshop a merit badge for you or something?” he asked casually as he went back to the patio table.

_Well, shit._

“I’d prefer to reward myself with a glass of scotch.” Bucky stood. “I’ve got soda and orange peel to go with. What do you say? Now that we’re home and you’re off-duty, is it cocktail hour?”

Steve laughed and said, “All right. Neat’s fine. Don’t go to any trouble for me.” He looked back and smiled at Bucky.

_Those fucking glasses!_

“You keep forgetting, Steve. I _like_ trouble.” Bucky had to clench his fist to keep from trailing his fingers across the back of Steve’s neck. He kept walking, passing behind Steve, and went to the bar inside. He was a drink up on Steve, and he’d already decided to let Steve direct wherever this was headed, so he made himself a scotch and soda, because he could never drink straight whisky slow enough to not end up way too drunk.

When he came back with their drinks, the fire had caught fully and was all bright orange flame, and Steve was buried in his laptop at the patio table. At least he’d moved it so he was near the fire and not facing away. Bucky handed Steve his drink, then dragged a chaise lounge right up to the firepit and angled it so his feet were almost in Steve’s lap. He flopped down and rested his glass on his chest to stare at the fire, listening to the quiet sound of Steve’s typing and clicking.

It was surprisingly comfortable. Bucky didn’t feel that tense edge he had with most people, as if he were just waiting for them to come up with one more demand, one more requirement, one more _thing_ he had to do because he was famous. About all he ended up doing, other than lazing there near Steve, was getting up to refresh their drinks.

It was like something out of their childhood, when they’d sneak away from class to hide in the woods and do nothing. Or usually Bucky did nothing while Steve sketched, though he’d always refused to show Bucky what he was drawing. And now, Bucky couldn’t help but wonder if Steve had been drawing _him_.

Before he could think about asking, Steve got up, closing the laptop with a sharp click. He stacked his gear and pushed the patio chair back under the table with one foot. “I’m gonna turn in. I’m not going to find you out here in the morning, frozen to death, am I?” he asked, grinning at Bucky.

Well, that was actually a fair question. Bucky had a history of staying up too late in random places and finally passing out wherever he ended up. It worked a lot better than climbing into a bed and _trying_ to go to sleep, which never turned out well. And he was still about two drinks away from being able to just nod off. “Don’t go yet. Didn’t you say something about taking pictures by firelight? I can add some more logs...”

“Tomorrow. I have some ideas,” Steve said, glancing at the dying fire, and though Bucky was sure he meant it innocently, it came out as anything but — at least in Bucky’s mind.

So he got up, not even realizing it, and followed Steve inside, to the coffee table. When Steve bent down to plug in the laptop’s charger, Bucky didn’t even pretend not to stare. Why the hell hadn’t Steve worn shorts for their workout? Maybe burning holes in Steve’s sweatpants would force a wardrobe change.

When Steve walked over to his luggage by the cot, Bucky had a stab of guilt over the fact that he would be mostly not-sleeping in the proper bed and Steve would be out here on that. “Hey. Do me a favor?”

“Sure, Buck,” Steve said without hesitation. He sat down on the edge of the cot and toed off his sneakers.

“Let me sleep out here?”

Steve laughed. “On the soul-eating couch? Not on your life. You get sucked into Hell, and Fury will throw me right in after you.”

Bucky cracked a grin. “No, on the cot. You can have the bed in the bedroom.” He stepped closer, getting ready to squelch any protest.

“Bucky... This is _your_ room. Unless you want me to go get a different one, or head back to the other —”

“Don’t. This is _our_ suite. You have a keycard to it. _We_ are sharing it. And I’ve been trying and failing to sleep on that bed all week; it doesn’t work so well.” Bucky took one more step closer. “The mattress is fine, I just couldn’t... Let me try out here tonight.”

Steve’s indulgent smile disappeared, and he got to his feet. “Is it your shoulder? Do you need a backrub or something?” he offered.

_Oh, God. Fuck yes._

Bucky stopped for a moment, not wanting to lie, but not wanting to pass up that opportunity. “It’s not the shoulder, but yeah. I hold a lot of tension back there.”

“Go get changed for bed. Leave the shirt off. I’ll see if I can find oil or lotion or something,” Steve said, heading right for the bathroom. “I can probably call the front desk if not, huh?”

“You’re learning.” Bucky felt a too-large wave of relief hit him as he downed his drink and went to change. With any luck, he would fall asleep while Steve was massaging him, and he’d actually get some rest for once. Though maybe that was wishful thinking, because the prospect of Steve’s hands on him already had his skin flushing hot with whiskey glow.

_Stop it, Barnes!_

No matter how much he wanted it, he had to remember to follow Steve’s lead on this, and see where the massage took them.


	11. Chapter 11

**Thursday, April 10, 2014**

This was a _terrible_ idea. God, Steve shouldn’t have said one _word_ about offering a massage. He should’ve just sent Bucky to bed, door firmly closed between them, and not... _this_. Because if Bucky had been gorgeous in the shower, half-naked, he was unfairly tempting now, lying flat on his stomach in nothing more than pajama pants, _expecting_ Steve’s hands on him.

But Steve had done this before and kept it friendly. Sure, not with someone he wanted so much, but he’d manage. He’d help Bucky relax, then leave, and probably spend the whole night awake, with his mind going down paths it had no business even considering.

He’d found a little bottle of sesame bath oil that didn’t smell too strongly. It was light for massage oil, but it would work better than bare hands. He put it on the nightstand, then said, “Why don’t you get under the blanket? This way if you fall asleep, I don’t have to wake you up to cover you.”

 _And it’s one more barrier between us,_ he thought.

Bucky’s face was halfway buried in the mattress, and his voice came out muffled. “Because I’m gonna sleep on the cot.”

“I’ve got fifty pounds on you, easy. I can just sit on you until you fall asleep or die of starvation,” Steve threatened, going around to the foot of the bed. Housekeeping hadn’t been in, except to deliver the cot, so they hadn’t made up Bucky’s bed. Steve took hold of the disarrayed comforter and gave it a threatening pull.

Bucky grunted and shifted his hips, then stuck his butt in the air, and Steve stared blankly for unforgivably long seconds before realizing he was supposed to actually move. He closed his eyes in a long blink, then looked down and tugged the comforter, and Bucky moved out of the way, until finally the blanket was free. Steve threw it blindly over the bed, only looking once everything was safely hidden.

Bucky sighed, shifted, and turned his head, blinking up at Steve. “If you don’t wanna do this, I can go.”

With a huff, Steve crawled up the bed, pulling the blanket down to Bucky’s waist. “Shut up, Bucky.” He reached out for the oil, then knelt over Bucky’s hips, trapping him under the blanket. “I told you, I’m doing this.”

“I bet you’re fucking good at it, with those arms and shoulders. Jesus, Steve. You put me to shame.”

“Growing up scrawny is pretty good motivation to stay in shape,” Steve said wryly, pouring oil into his hands. “Besides, you’re perfectly proportioned. Any more and it’d look strange. How the hell did you manage to match the metal arm to your other arm so perfectly?”

Bucky said a word, but it was muffled too much for Steve to understand. He lifted his head slightly, then set it down again to speak above the mattress instead of into it. “Stark.” He huffed. “I dunno. Some insane algorithm of how my body’s optimum muscle configuration and size would look. His computer is a bit of an over-achiever.”

“God. You got naked for Tony Stark’s computer? I think I’m jealous,” Steve teased thoughtlessly as he flattened his hands on Bucky’s back.

“Hmm. JARVIS is a catch, it’s true. His banter is almost as good as yours. But you have no reason to be jealous, I promise you.”

“I’ve heard stories about that computer,” Steve said, grateful that Bucky’s face was hidden against the mattress. He started digging his fingers into gorgeously sculpted muscles, telling himself to find the knots, but all he could manage at first was slow, deep petting. God, Bucky was in fantastic shape. “How close can I get to the metal? I don’t want to hurt you.”

Bucky raised his head up quickly as if he’d just remembered something. “Oh, God. Um, a couple inches away is fine. It’s all scar tissue right around the seam. Doesn’t hurt.” He laid his head back down.

“Okay. Tell me if” — Steve froze, realizing saying anything with the word _hard_ in this context would be a terrible idea — “if I hurt you,” he finished, wondering if he could take a moment to go bash his head against the wall a few times. Because his hands were on Bucky’s back, fingers just curving against his ribs, pressing hard enough that he could feel the rise and fall of his breathing, and Steve couldn’t for the life of him get his hands to _move_ right away. At least not up, towards Bucky’s shoulderblades, rather than down.

“I’m _hoping_ you hurt me. That’s how I know you’re doing it right. The harder the better, Steve. Seriously.”

Steve couldn’t stop the way his fingers twitched. _Harder,_ he thought, wondering if this sort of provocation was enough for Nick to forgive him if he just strangled Bucky. Probably. Nick had to know just how impossible Bucky was.

Wondering how he was going to get through this, he took a deep, steadying breath and pushed a little harder — _only_ a little — and got back to the massage.

 

~~~

 

It might not have been the most technically perfect massage, but once Steve stopped holding back, what he did to Bucky still felt better than it had any right to. Strong hands, strong fingers, and obsessive attention to detail — covering every single inch of Bucky’s body, from nape to waistband — had Bucky purring in a blissful haze.

It had been way too fucking long since he’d been touched like that, and though his muscles ached where the knots had been worked out, his skin was alight with the sensations, and he found himself wishing it would never end.

When Steve gentled his touch, easing from a light massage to soft petting, Bucky was so grateful he couldn’t keep himself from moaning in pleasure. Steve’s hands roved farther as his touch got lighter, skimming over Bucky’s shoulders — metal and flesh — and down his arms, then back down Bucky’s sides, pressing just hard enough to avoid tickling. Being touched symmetrically, on both his metal and flesh arms and shoulders, was a very rare thing, and somehow it lit up the sensors that much brighter, making his head spin.

The haze didn’t lift when Steve stopped touching. He moved off Bucky’s body carefully, barely stirring the mattress, and lifted the blanket up over Bucky’s shoulders. Bucky wanted to open his eyes, but then he felt a light touch on his face, like the brush of Steve’s hand, and he went perfectly still.

When Steve started to pull away Bucky found the energy to move his left arm and wrap it around the leg pressed up to the edge of the bed. “Thanks. Fuck. I owe you.”

“Don’t be stupid. You needed it,” Steve scolded, resting his hand on Bucky’s shoulder for a moment. Then he tugged the blanket unnecessarily higher and said, “Go to sleep.”

Bucky reached and missed, then reached again to grab Steve’s arm. He got hold of Steve’s wrist and turned over onto his back, tugging Steve over with him. Steve was strong, but he made the mistake of trying to pull his wrist free of Bucky’s metal fingers, and he wasn’t balanced to fight back. He hit the bed — and Bucky — and braced himself an instant too late.

“Buck —”

Steve’s face was inches from his own, and Bucky had lost any ability to govern his intense desire to touch back, after being made to feel so good. Bucky wasn’t holding on to Steve anywhere but his wrist, so the fact that his parted lips were still within reach a couple seconds after he spoke made Bucky bold.

“You’re perfect.” The words came out as he closed the distance between them, lifting his head just enough to claim the kiss he’d been wanting all day.

Steve’s mouth opened on a gasp, and he went tense — not pulling away but not surrendering either. Bucky wrapped his right hand around the back of Steve’s neck and licked at his mouth with a wordless, soft, needy sound —

And Steve answered with a low growl, pushing Bucky back into the mattress with the ferocity of his response. He didn’t kiss — he stole Bucky’s breath and mind, crushing Bucky under his weight as their teeth clicked together before he finally found just the right angle.

_Yes. Fuck, yes._

Bucky’s whole back was still singing with Steve’s touch, and now he was where Bucky could get hold of him. As their kiss deepened, Bucky arched into Steve’s body and grabbed his shoulders to pull him closer. Bucky’s breath came in gasps and little moans of pleasure as Steve licked and bit and pressed into his mouth, his tongue hot and messy and _perfect._

Bucky could have sucked on Steve’s lower lip for days, but when Steve’s hip brushed against his cock he had to gasp for breath. “Fuck, Steve.”

Steve pulled free to stare down at Bucky, open _want_ in his eyes. But instead of going back to kissing — or, even better, getting rid of the fucking blanket trapped between them — he flattened his hands on the mattress and pushed back hard enough to break Bucky’s hold on him.

 _“Shit.”_ Steve scrambled back and off the bed, breathing hard. He was still in his jeans and a T-shirt, spotted with oil where drops had soaked into the weave.

“What?” Bucky shivered and sat up, unconsciously following Steve’s warmth.

“God. Sorry. I’m sorry,” Steve said, backing away from the bed.

“What the fuck for? Steve, what —”

Steve was nearly at the door. “For —” He gestured awkwardly towards the bed. “I didn’t — You were so relaxed. Go to sleep.”

Bucky scrambled out of the bed to head him off at the door. _“I_ did that.” He reached out as he got close to Steve, but felt like he was trying to wrangle a caged animal. “I thought you wanted it. I’m sorry.”

“It was my fault,” Steve said with something that sounded like relief in his voice. “But after the day we’ve had... We’ll take it easy tomorrow, okay?” he suggested.

Something told Bucky that Steve didn’t mean slow wake-up sex, but that was all he could think of. “Fault? That makes it sound like something happened that shouldn’t have. Steve —”

“We’re friends, Bucky,” Steve interrupted, touching Bucky’s arm with just his fingertips, distant and impersonal.

“That doesn’t mean I want to fuck you any less. Jesus, Steve. You had me so fucking close in the shower, I —”

“I don’t,” Steve said quietly.

Bucky’s brain stuttered. _“What?”_

Steve shifted his weight back, away from Bucky. “I don’t... do that. We’re _friends,_ Bucky, but that’s all.” He looked away, taking a deep breath. “I shouldn’t have even kissed you. I’m sorry, Bucky. I’m really, really sorry.”

Nothing Steve was saying made sense. “You’ve had a thing for me since we were twelve, but when I finally figure out I can kiss you, you decide you don’t want it because you’d rather stay _friends?”_

“Casual sex... I just... _don’t_.” Steve shook his head and took another deliberate step back. “I’m sorry.”

Bucky risked taking a step toward Steve. “Who said there was anything casual about this?”

“Bucky, twelve hours ago, you were ready to throw me out. And the whole _world_ is watching you, expecting you and Jane to be Hollywood’s next super-couple. There can’t be _anything_ between us! And I’m —” Steve stopped, lowering his voice again. “I’m just glad that we _can_ be friends. That’s enough.”

That was so not enough. Everything in Bucky was desperate to convince Steve they could do this, to make it fucking work. He’d done it before, not just with Clint. But then the fight went out of him as he realized that to Steve, this situation looked like a remake of his college love story.

And Bucky just lost it. Shut down.

He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, then opened them and walked for the door, only to have Steve get in his way.

“Bucky.” He took hold of Bucky’s shoulders and nodded towards the bed. “Come on. Get back in bed. I’m not letting you sleep on that cot — not after all the work I did on your back.”

“I can’t sleep in that bed, Steve. Not after what we... I can’t.” He wrenched his shoulders free, pushed past Steve, and headed out to the cot. He fell onto it and curled into a tight ball, wishing he had the strength to get up and get the scotch.

 

~~~

 

It took forever for Steve to fall asleep in a bed he didn’t want, alone. God, he should never have let Bucky insist on sharing the suite. And first thing in the morning, Steve was going to call Nick and get this fixed. Another room here, the old hotel room, even an early plane ticket back to New York. At this point, Steve didn’t care. He needed distance, and Bucky obviously needed it even more.

Not that the voice in the back of Steve’s head cared about distance at all. All his life, Steve had been searching for _the one_ — that special person to share everything with. But until he found that person, was there really any harm in... well, other people? These days, people hooked up through smartphone apps. He sure as hell wasn’t impressing anyone by insisting on a committed relationship before sex, though that wasn’t the point.

He just didn’t know what the point was anymore. Not when he wanted Bucky more desperately than he wanted air to breathe.

But he knew it would be awful to have Bucky now, only to lose him. Or, worse, _pretending_. Because Bucky would soon be hanging all over Jane, playing the ‘are they or aren’t they?’ game for the paparazzi, sharing suites and private planes as they traveled the world to launch their new movie. There was no room in a publicity contract for anyone — especially not a same-sex partner.

And eventually, Steve did fall asleep, only to wake up when the door creaked. For a half-second, Steve reached for the rifle that wasn’t next to him, because the mattress was too soft and all he heard was the hum of the room’s heater, not the sound of wind through trees. He sat up, straining to see in the darkness, as someone came towards him —

 _Bucky_.

“Hey,” Steve said, his voice raspy with sleep.

Bucky’s answer came to Steve’s ears as little more than a breath. “Sorry.”

Steve rubbed at his eyes, trying to kick his mind into gear. He’d been too long off the battlefield — there was no jolt of adrenaline to help him wake up. “Bucky,” he said, pushing the blankets aside. “It’s okay, really. _We’re_ okay.”

“Okay." Bucky was hovering just out of reach of the bed, and even in the dark room Steve could see — no, feel — the anxiety in him. “Okay.” He took a breath as if to say more, but nothing else came out.

Moving slowly, Steve swung his legs over the side of the bed. He was tempted to go for the bedside light, but the near-complete darkness was peaceful. No sense startling Bucky into shying away. Instead, as calmly as he could, he invited, “C’mere, Buck.”

It was as if Bucky’s exhale was what brought him forward, but he stopped before he actually reached Steve’s side, and he didn’t sit. “I need... I’m sorry, I just... Can I —” He interrupted himself, shaking his head. “I’ll go.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Steve said, gently teasing. He reached out for Bucky’s hand — the right was closer — and took hold. “Sit down. What’s wrong?”

Bucky dropped onto the bed next to him, and his hand clutched Steve’s tightly for a moment before letting go. He took a deep breath. “I need a favor, but I feel bad ’cause you...”

 _A favor,_ Steve thought uncomfortably. Bucky wouldn’t ask for _sex_ , would he? Sure, Steve had had trouble pushing that kiss out of his memory, but they were adults. If nothing else, Bucky would know better than to think that would work on Steve.

Then again, after fifteen years apart, they really were strangers to each other.

“You want to switch beds again?” he asked instead, hoping to distract Bucky from what could be an even more uncomfortable conversation.

“No, God. Please. I just... I’m fucking shit at sleeping. And I’m exhausted. I just need... Can I sleep here with you? _Just_ sleep. I promise.” Bucky sounded wrecked and on the edge of pleading.

That did nothing to ease Steve’s suspicions, but Bucky’s tone of voice broke his heart. If this was some underhanded way to get close... well, worst case, Steve could handle himself in a fight, even against Bucky’s cybernetic arm. Hopefully it wouldn’t come to that, though. And Bucky _did_ sound awful.

“Sure, Buck,” Steve said, his calm tone at odds with the way his mind was racing. He moved over to the far side of the bed and pushed the heavy comforter into the middle, as a barrier. He lifted one corner and said, “Get in.”

Bucky huffed a mirthless laugh and climbed in. “Thanks. It’s really just your breathing I need. The rhythm will help me sleep. You don’t snore do you?” He turned his back and settled his head on the pillow.

“If I do, nobody’s made it through the night to tell me.” Steve bundled Bucky under the covers, making sure to keep a thick layer of fabric between their bodies. Then he laid back down, under just the sheet, and said, “Come here. Back sleeper, remember?”

“What?” Bucky lifted his head but didn’t move. “I’m not asking for...”

“Bucky. You sound like shit, and it’s obvious you don’t want to be left alone. C’mere,” Steve insisted, getting his arm under Bucky’s pillow.

Bucky still didn't move for a few more moments. Then he shifted around under the covers to face Steve. He was holding himself tensely and not resting his head back down. “Okay, how do you want me?”

It was obvious this wasn’t about sex. Steve inched closer, so he could get his arm around Bucky’s body. Then he tugged the pillow against his shoulder, remembering how Peggy had put her foot down about the ‘myth’ of cuddling someone who worked out as much as he did. Muscles apparently didn’t make for a good pillow.

“Get comfortable,” Steve said, resisting the urge to give Bucky a kiss, just as friends. He didn’t want it misunderstood, and it wasn’t fair to lead Bucky on — or himself, for that matter.

Bucky finally rested his head on Steve’s shoulder — or on the pillow on top of it — and pressed his body up against the bunched blanket enough so Steve registered the weight on his side. “Oh, man. Your pulse is even better than your breathing. I won’t put your arm to sleep, will I?”

“I’ll tell my cardiologist you approve,” Steve said with a quiet laugh. “And no, you’re fine. Do you need me to tell you a story? I can grab my Kindle.”

“Jesus, I’m not six and scared of the dark, jerk.” Bucky poked Steve near his armpit, and it made him jump. “It’s just the... I get woken up and can’t get back to sleep.”

“I can find you an iguana to cuddle, if I’m not good enough,” Steve offered, grinning.

“Pfff. At least an iguana wouldn’t keep me awake talking all night.” Bucky’s voice was amused, and he rubbed his forehead and nose into the pillow just below Steve’s chin like a cat.

“You’re also talking. Share the blame, Barnes. Besides, you’re the troublemaker here. They knew it at camp, too.” Steve snickered. “Everyone thought I was the angel of the two of us.”

“You? You were the one starting fights every other day. I was the fucking damsel in distress most of the time.” Bucky tilted his head up so his mouth was closer to Steve’s ear. “ _I’m_ not trouble, Captain. I’m just attracted to it.”

Steve’s exhale was a little broken by that reminder that they weren’t kids anymore. This wasn’t a casual, meaningless, innocent puppy-pile of bodies. He closed his eyes, grateful for the foresight that had put a thick blanket between them, and finally latched onto what was hopefully a safe part of Bucky’s statement. “We could always have Jane rescuing you in the shoot. Put you in a pretty dress and everything. She could do the shotgun-and-combat-boots look, right?”

“Fuck. Yeah, she could. But I’m not sure I’m ready for drag. Mascara, yeah. Or at least a fuckton of eyeliner. But maybe not a dress.”

“Ropes and railroad ties. We’ll recreate the classics,” Steve said thoughtlessly.

“Oh, God. Steve, stop.” Bucky shifted as if uncomfortable. “I’ve seen what you do with ropes, and that’s not gonna get me to sleep anytime soon.”

“You —” Steve tried to think of how the _hell_ Bucky could know, but unless he was browsing fetish websites... Or there was a link buried somewhere on his Facebook page, wasn’t there? Had Bucky been researching him? Not possible. Sixteen hours ago, Bucky hadn’t wanted anything to do with him. “Where? How?”

“Shit. Sorry, I just saw the thumbnail of a gallery folder on your computer. I didn’t open it. Honestly.” Bucky had tensed up again as if to move away.

Steve pulled him closer with a somewhat relieved laugh. “That. Yeah, I keep trying to talk Sam into modeling, but he’s shy. He helped with a shoot I was doing. You can look at the rest of the shots tomorrow, if you want,” he added after mentally reviewing the photos. They were suggestive, but Sam was fucking gorgeous. He could be ‘suggestive’ walking to the corner store for a damn loaf of bread. There was nothing too risque in those photos, at least.

“Fuck. _That’s_ Sam? Why the fuck aren’t you getting some of that? You’re an idiot, Steve. And hell yes, I want to look at those pictures. Jesus.”

Steve shook his head. “He’s not interested. Besides, we’ve been friends and roommates for a few years now. It’d be awkward if it didn’t work out.”

He hid a sigh, hoping that _this_ wouldn’t end awkwardly. He wasn’t one to start what he couldn’t finish, and he and Bucky didn’t have a happy ending in sight, other than friendship. One foot off that path, and everything would be ruined. And that meant ending this intimate, late-night conversation before he made things worse.

Time to get things back on track. A little more cheerfully, Steve said, “Okay. So, how’s this? If you go to sleep, I’ll let you see the pictures tomorrow. That incentive enough?”

“Look, I’m not the one getting everybody excited, talking about hot roommates and bondage and shit.” Bucky nestled in close like he had been before and let his body relax. After a moment of quiet, he spoke again. “Slow your heartbeat down, asshole. I’m trying to get some rest here.”

This time, Steve didn’t bother hiding his sigh. “ _You’re_ the one who started it. Should I just smother you with a pillow? I think I can stop before I actually kill you. Maybe. In fact, I’ll do that if you bring up bondage one more time.”

“Shut up already, you jerk. You’re the worst sleeping partner ever.”

Steve laughed, hugging Bucky close to his side. “You’re the asshole who woke me up, remember? Be glad I didn’t have a weapon. Old habits.”

“Sorry. I worried about that.” Bucky turned his head so his face was more than halfway into the pillow, muffling his next statement. “That’s why I didn’t come in right after the nightmare. I waited for like an hour.”

“God. Bucky...” Steve freed his other arm from the sheet so he could touch Bucky’s shoulder. He would’ve rolled over to pull Bucky into his arms, but he didn’t want to push Bucky off the pillow. “I’m glad you did come in, eventually. Are you seeing anyone for your nightmares?”

“They gave me some sleeping pills a while back, but I hate them. It’s like my body gets hijacked.” Bucky moved his hand to rest on Steve’s chest. “Clint was the best thing I’ve found. I just need to feel safe. Like someone’s got my back.”

Steve closed his mouth before he could do something stupid, like volunteer to help. His childhood crush had never gone away, and he was already too close to compromising everything he wanted, for Bucky. “You should think about finding someone to talk to. Someone to help you work through the nightmares, so you don’t have them anymore.”

Bucky sighed, sounding weary. “Can we just sleep, Steve? You can tell me how to live my life tomorrow, after I’ve actually gotten some rest.”

“Shit. I’m sorry.” Steve hugged Bucky, then tugged up the blankets, covering him. “I live with a bartender who does volunteer counseling at the VA. Interfering in other people’s problems is instinct by now. Go to sleep. Dream about how you want Jane rescuing you from the zombies.”

“Yes, sir, Cap.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Friday, April 11, 2014**

Bucky woke slowly from peaceful sleep.

_Thank fuck._

He was in his favorite position, the little spoon, with Clint pressed up against his back, arm tight around his waist. It felt so fucking good. He wondered if Clint had woken up hard, because the only thing better than spooning was sex _while_ spooning.

He pressed his ass back invitingly into the hollow of Clint’s pelvis, murmuring, “Morning, babe.”

Clint’s arm went tight around Bucky’s chest.

Or _not_ Clint’s arm, because while Clint was in shape, he wasn’t _that_ in shape.

And a voice that definitely _wasn’t_ Clint’s let out a huff of laughter and said, “If we’re at the pet names stage, you can get me coffee.”

_Fuck. Steve._

“Fucking Christ. I’m so sorry.” Bucky turned onto his back, both to get his ass out of Steve’s crotch and to see his face. He didn’t sound mad, but Bucky wanted to be sure because he'd promised not to try anything in bed, and he'd feel awful if Steve thought he was doing just that. “I thought you were... I haven't woken up with anyone since...” Steve was grinning, sleepy and relaxed. Sweet, even. Not to mention gorgeous. Bucky turned away and half buried his face in his pillow. “I’ll go make coffee.”

“It’s fine,” Steve said, not letting go of Bucky’s body. “Shut up and go back to sleep. You need the rest. You can get me coffee later.”

Bucky wondered if he’d been the instigator of spooning — Clint had told him he could be insistent about keeping bodily contact, to the point of pulling and pushing Clint into position  — or if Steve had voluntarily spooned him. He was too embarrassed to ask at the moment. “I thought you were a back sleeper.”

“Staying in one position all night is a great way to wake up with a stiff back.” Steve’s arm tightened. “Go back to sleep, Barnes. Or are you really not tired?”

Bucky was bad at knowing what not-tired felt like. And going back to sleep was easier said than done, both generally and at that moment. Because when he’d woken his body had been interested, and being in Steve’s arms wasn’t helping it calm down any. Not that he had any desire for distance. It really did feel fucking good to have Steve wrapped around him, but that felt selfish. He’d asked for enough favors. “Are you? You don’t have to lie here with me if you don’t want to.”

“Soldier’s habits.” Steve snuggled closer, breath stirring Bucky’s hair. “I can sleep wherever, whenever. Sometimes, even when someone’s shooting in my general direction. But if you want to get rid of me, I can go get you an iguana to cuddle instead.”

Bucky was having a hard time finding the line — the one that showed where Steve felt comfortable operating within the bounds of ‘friends who were clearly attracted to each other but weren't fucking’ and ‘lovers who just hadn't done it yet’. He closed his eyes to savor the feel of Steve being so unselfconsciously intimate with him, because navigating this was only going to get harder.

He huffed a laugh. “Well if I’m being made to choose, I’ll go with the warm-blooded creature, please.”

“Probably for the best. Iguanas are kind of spiky to cuddle. I’d love to photograph you like this, you know, but again, too intimate for magazines.”

 _Oh God._ They might already be crossing that damned line. “Sure, but that’d mean you have to get up. And if it’s not for anyone else, you’ve gotta let me take a few of you, too.”

“Me?” Steve sounded startled. Then he laughed and nudged at Bucky through the layers of blankets between their bodies. “I look like shit in pictures, Buck. You’re the star here.”

Bucky turned around to look at him. “Not if the pictures are for private use only. Then I’m just somebody you know. And haven’t your friends and lovers wanted to take pictures of you? If not, they’re all idiots.”

Steve grinned and rolled over onto his back, though he turned to look at Bucky, and he kept his arm under Bucky’s pillow. “Really, you don’t want to see pictures of me. I’m perfectly happy on the _other_ side of the camera. Besides, two lovers and not many more friends... Everyone I know, I see just about every day.”

 _Two._ Actually just two lovers. Bucky had figured Steve had only been talking about relationships he’d been in, but if he’d really only ever slept with the two people he was serious about, then no wonder he shot Bucky down last night. His own number wasn’t really that large — smaller than everyone thought it was — but it _was_ a few more than the actual relationships he’d been in.

Bucky wondered if Steve was this cuddly and intimate with his other friends, and maybe that was why he didn’t date that much. Bucky was surprised to feel a bit of jealousy at that idea. But he had to admit it beat being touch-starved until you did something destructive just to get laid.

He rolled over onto his stomach and propped up on his elbows to look down into Steve’s face. “Well, look, I won’t have that luxury once publicity for the movie gears up, and I want some up-to-date photos of you. So deal with it.”

“Ugh. Fine,” Steve said on a long, dramatic sigh. He pulled his arm out from under Bucky’s pillow and covered his eyes. “Just don’t expect me to smile.”

“Christ, look who’s the diva now.” Bucky made his voice go rough and low like Lauren Bacall’s. “I don’t do smiling, darling. It’s just too much work.”

Steve burst out laughing and moved his arm to stare at Bucky. “Yeah, okay. _Now_ I need that coffee. And are there Oreos left? I’m starving.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Demille.” Bucky had to keep himself from leaning over and kissing Steve’s shoulder, or his cheek or mouth or neck for that matter, before he knelt up to get out of bed. Steve really did look gorgeous all laid out there on the bed, one arm draped on the pillow above his head. If only mental snapshots lasted as long as physical ones. Maybe Bucky could capture a bit of it for Steve with that camera, so he’d understand. “But no crumbs in the bed.”

In answer, Steve threw a pillow at him.

 

~~~

 

Waking up next to another person had been surprisingly nice. The last time Steve had shared a bed had been... right after Hurricane Sandy, he guessed, at the old apartment, when flooding had forced him and Sam to share the back room for a week. Steve had missed that friendly, no-pressure intimacy.

But Bucky was awake now, presumably arranging for important things, like coffee and breakfast, and Steve wasn’t about to laze around in bed. There was too much to do — brush his teeth, for one, though Bucky had been too polite to comment. And then he needed to plan the day’s shots, especially if they were going remote. Check the weather, make sure the SUV had gas, verify the location, pack the equipment. He should bring lights, which meant packing the generator and making sure it also had fuel.

God, why hadn’t he done all this last night? Why had he allowed himself to be distracted by the gym and dinner — _not a date, just dinner!_ — and then relaxing by the fire? And the massage. Big, big mistake. Because sharing a bed could be friendly, especially when nightmares were involved, but there’d been nothing _friendly_ about that massage.

He didn’t even dare let himself _consider_ the kiss.

Hoping like hell that he could get back onto solid ground today, he went out to the living room, where Bucky was making coffee. Feeling self-conscious in his T-shirt and boxer-briefs, Steve went right for his bathroom. He forgot entirely about stopping at his luggage to pick up clothes, but hopefully by the time he was done, Bucky would be getting ready for the day with his own shower.

When he returned to the living room to get his clothes, he found a full coffee pot and no Bucky. The bedroom door was open, though, and the loud sound of the shower told him the bathroom door probably was, too. That gave Steve a moment’s breathing room to collect himself and get dressed.

But no sooner had Steve poured a cup of coffee — the first order of business even before clothes — than Bucky was shutting off the water and calling to him.

“Steve! Come here!”

 _Pants,_ Steve thought, sloshing hot coffee over his hand in his haste to get rid of the mug and run for his jeans. He pulled on the nearest pair and zipped up before calling, “What?” and heading warily for Bucky’s room.

“Come tell me what we’re doing today. I need to know... Oh.” Bucky was standing in front of the bathroom mirror in nothing but a towel, and he’d stopped speaking when he caught sight of Steve in the reflection. “Are you _sure_ you don’t want your picture taken? I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable or anything, but the way you look right now really should be preserved for posterity.”

“Buck,” Steve protested, feeling his face go hot. He backed up a step and tried to act casual, looking around the bedroom. Looking at the bed that they’d shared last night definitely didn’t help. “We’re — Breakfast. And coffee first. Before anything.”

Bucky went back to whatever he was talking about before, his voice a bit too nonchalant. “Right. Sorry. Okay. But are we still on the zombie theme? I dunno what you want me to do with my hair.”

Steve looked back before he could stop himself — and then there was no hope for it. Bucky was gorgeous and compelling, and Steve was in deep, deep trouble, because last night, having Bucky in his arms... He’d assigned it an emotional significance that neither of them could afford. Only emotions didn’t operate with an on/off switch.

“I don’t think you could do anything to it that wouldn’t look perfect,” Steve admitted, resigned to the fact that his old crush was no longer a thing of the past — or a crush, for that matter. “Even shaving it, like in your enlistment photo.”

Bucky huffed. “That buzz cut was awful. Made my face look fat. But it was damned functional. I’m not gonna let you shave my head, though. Fury would have a heart attack if I showed up to all the premieres bald. And _then_ he’d kill me.” He caught Steve’s eye in the mirror as he asked, “What do you want?”

Not that Steve had any intention of actually answering. Instead, he said, “Leave it natural. If we need to put stuff in it, we can do that later. You sure you want to let me drag you out to the middle of the desert?”

Bucky turned around to grin at him before handing over a few hair products. “Pretty sure I’ve been in weirder and more uncomfortable places than that in my life. Besides, home away from home, really.”

Steve hid a wince at that. “It’s not _exactly_ the same,” he pointed out instead, trying to juggle... whatever was in the tubes and bottles. He never bothered using anything in his hair, so he was more than a little lost. “And if it’s uncomfortable or anything, just let me know, okay? Or if you see any undead. They won’t decay in the desert, you know. Our best bet’s to head north, to the Arctic.”

Bucky laughed as he crowded Steve out of the doorway to get to the bedroom. “I’ll keep an eye out. But as long as you aren’t putting me in body armor, it’ll be a walk in the park.”

“No body armor,” Steve assured him, crossing that off the mental list. It would’ve been perfect for the shoot, but Steve wasn’t going to get heavy-handed with things that might trigger more nightmares. Hell, if he’d known about Bucky’s nightmares yesterday, he might’ve gone for a completely different look.

The towel, though... That was a good look for Bucky. Because his legs were almost as nice as his upper body. There was something incredibly appealing about Bucky’s much more practical strength. Steve, though, seemed to be trapped between two extremes — either he was too skinny or too bulky, and better to carry the weight as muscle.

“Hey, friend,” Bucky said in a teasing tone. Steve jumped and brought his eyes to Bucky’s face, which held a smile. “This towel is about to drop so I can change. If you wanna turn around, now’s the time.”

_Fuck._

Steve took the opportunity to escape, and he ended up scattering hair product everywhere in the living room when he went to close the bedroom door. Ignoring Bucky’s laugh, Steve made sure the door was firmly latched, picked everything back up, and then went to get his coffee. He suspected that he’d need the caffeine to survive today.

 

~~~

 

Three hours in the cool morning desert was nothing for two experienced soldiers, even in the thin mountain air. Bucky spent more time waiting than posing as Steve checked light levels and got distracted by the sweeping mountain view. He _had_ mentioned wanting to be a landscape photographer, so Bucky let him indulge. Besides, Steve was fascinating to watch, once he got into his work, and it was a whole new experience, seeing him from off to one side, rather than in front of the lens.

Though to be fair, Bucky was starting to get addicted to having Steve’s eyes on him. Didn’t matter if Steve was thinking of how best to light him or telling him to fuck off after a bad joke. Being really seen by someone who actually knew _him_ , not his celebrity persona, was just so comforting — and welcome because it was so novel. And any time Steve allowed the slightest bit of desire to creep into his gaze, it took Bucky’s breath away so fast he got dizzy. And _that_ felt fucking wonderful.

They went into town for lunch, where they found a taco truck. Bucky might’ve hesitated, but Steve mentioned the whole ‘eat what the locals eat’ thing, and again he was proved right. The tacos were dirt cheap and delicious enough that Bucky had to stop himself from going back for fourths.

They’d already worked out the best way to set up most of the equipment that morning. When they went back into the mountains for the afternoon shoot, all they had to do was reposition some of the lights to compensate for the shifting sun.

“It’s colder than I thought it’d be,” Steve said, his frown barely visible, with his sunglasses on. “We can skip this, if you want. I don’t need to take you back to Fury with a cold.”

Bucky didn’t want to derail Steve when he was in the zone. It wasn’t just interesting to watch his process; it was fucking gorgeous. And Bucky was pretty sure he was witnessing one of the first times Steve had really gotten to spread his wings in this way. Though if Bucky had anything to say about it, Steve would soon be soaring towards his own brand of stardom as _the_ ‘in’ celebrity photographer.

“It’s fine. I just reserve the right to take an hour-long, scalding-hot bath when we get back home.”

“I’ll arrange to have some soothing organic tea for you,” Steve said wryly as he started to haul water bottles out of the back of the SUV. “Shirt off, everything else on. Got your dog tags?”

“Always.” Bucky flipped them out of his collar, put one in his mouth, then stripped off his shirt, aware that Steve was trying not to stare at him. Yesterday, Steve had kept a professional distance, right up until the end, in the shower. Today, he hadn’t even managed to pretend.

A ripping sound made Bucky turn. Steve was crouched down by the water bottles, using a folding knife to shave strips off the store-brand labels. He wasn’t cleaning them completely — just enough for the bottles to look used.

Bucky threw the shirt in the back of the SUV. The sunlight was hot, but the wind had a chilly edge that raised goosebumps over his right arm and chest. When he rubbed his hand over his left arm, the metal was warm.

“If you need to touch up your makeup, now’s the time,” Steve prompted. “Or did you want to do the grease around your eyes again? No, let’s get a few shots without. Then we’ll try it.”

When Steve looked back over his shoulder, Bucky realized he’d just been standing there, watching Steve work. “Whatever you say, boss.”

There it was — a hint of that blush again, visible for a heartbeat before Steve turned back to the water bottles. He ripped the plastic safety strips off each cap, pocketed them, then asked, “Could you hand me any foundation? Brown or yellow, not pink. I need to make these look dirty.”

Bucky found the makeup kit and started to search through it before it dawned on him. “Why not just use actual dirt?”

“Contrast. I’m going to do the same to you.” Steve shot Bucky a quick grin — and God, how could he say he _hated_ how he looked in pictures, with that sort of smile? “You don’t stop to clean up right after a fight. You put a couple klicks behind you first.”

“So, what? Different shade of dirt two kilometers away?” Bucky brought Steve the foundation, noting the warmth of his hand when he took it.

And then Steve dropped the foundation aside as he got up, standing abruptly, just inches away. He took hold of Bucky’s face, palms against his cheeks, and turned, casting his own face into shadow. Bucky could just see his own reflection in Steve’s sunglasses, and a hint of blue eyes behind them.

Then Steve let go so he could push the sunglasses up on top of his head, still staring right into Bucky’s eyes, and he tipped Bucky’s face up so that Bucky had to squint against the sunlight.

“Body armor,” Steve said, licking his lips. “We need full kit. Helmet and everything. God, how did I _not_ see it? But we can do that tomorrow, once we find a nearby military base.”

“What the fuck are you talking about? I mean, sure. Full kit. I can do that, but what? Why?”

“Your _eyes_ ,” Steve said, cupping Bucky’s face again, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones. “Desert camo, dirt, sun glare, and your eyes, like the sky. That’s cover art, right there. Or a header. Yeah, horizontal’s better. You don’t even know what the sun does to your eyes. They’re... I can’t even explain it. Translucent. Like crystal.”

_Fuck. Please just kiss me._

“Okay...”

“And then,” Steve said, grinning now, “we do the same fucking thing, but without the desert camo. You coming up out of the water. _My_ old kit, full face paint... Shit. There’s got to be a botanical garden or zoo we can use, with the right plants, like in Panama.”

Bucky was totally lost. Was Steve thinking zombies in the jungle as well? Or was he off on a new, eye-centric idea? Bucky remembered watching some of Steve’s paintings at camp go through phases in their evolution before he found what he wanted, but Bucky had always been convinced they wouldn’t have been as lovely if the hidden layers underneath hadn’t been added along the way. So whatever Steve wanted, he’d get, because by the end, they’d have reached something truly amazing. “Okay.”

Then Steve laughed and looked down almost shyly, releasing Bucky. “God. I’m sorry. If you let me go on like this, I’ll be dragging you to Alaska and burying you in sixty pounds of Arctic survival gear.”

“There’s gotta be a snowy peak a fuckload closer than Alaska...”

“Denali National Park. Nothing but the best for an A-lister,” Steve said with a wry grin. He shook his head and crouched back down to pick up the discarded foundation. “I just... A whole series of pictures, all of them focused on your eyes, with the rest of you getting lost against the scenery. You were a sniper. It seemed appropriate.”

_Fuck. That’s good._

“I want that. We can make it happen. But it’ll need a longer timeframe, since soon all my travel for like two months will be for movie press. Unless any of my destinations are near locations you had in mind and you can come with...?”

He probably shouldn’t have offered that. Nick would have his head for asking for a travel companion — especially a male one — since he was supposed to be all cozy with Jane. Even if Steve was the best photographer they’d worked with in a while. But God it would be nice. Steve would never go for it, though. Too much hiding and making excuses.

Steve smiled up at him, though only briefly, before he went back to smudging streaks of foundation on the water bottles. “You’re going to be too busy. You looked exhausted the last time you did press, and that was with you working under child labor hours or whatever. You don’t get to hide with the under-eighteens anymore.”

“The exhaustion comes from never getting a break from other people. If we skipped out to do some crazy shoot somewhere, that would _give_ me energy, not take it away.” Bucky knew he shouldn’t push this, and yet he couldn’t let it go, because he _was_ starting to get nervous about the junkets and the red carpets and the neverending cycle of premieres. And for some reason he was sure that having Steve there would be grounding.

“And then Nick would put out a hit on me, and _you’d_ have to explain to Sam why he wasn’t going to make rent next month,” Steve said with a laugh. He got to his feet again and tipped his head, studying Bucky’s face. “I know it’s got to be lonely,” he said more gently, “but you’ll have Jane there, and your whole staff.”

_They aren’t you._

“Lonely while never being alone. It’s a fucking nightmare.” Bucky kicked the dirt and tried not to pout. “Jane will keep me sane, but... Whatever. Hopefully you’ll also be busy — too busy to follow me around and take my picture. At some point you’re gonna get sick of my face and find someone else to shoot.”

Steve touched Bucky’s chin, lifting his head so their eyes met. “Never happen, Buck. I’ve been following your career for, what, twenty years now? Not sick of you yet.”

_Jesus._

Steve had been right there with him the whole way. If only Bucky had known that, maybe he wouldn’t have felt so alone. Bucky didn’t deserve this man. Steve was right to not want to pursue anything with him. But this was fucking torture, to have something so perfect right in front of him, just out of reach. And with Steve staring at him, as if he were the most wonderful thing in the world... Something inside Bucky just cracked.

“Steve, please don’t.”

After one confused blink, Steve’s eyes went wide. He pulled his hand away and stepped back, kicking over one of the water bottles, and nearly tripped. “Shit. God, I’m — _Shit_. Sorry, Bucky. _Fuck_ ,” he said, dropping the compact again as he went to pick up the bottle, turning his back. “Maybe — Fuck. Put your shirt on before you freeze. We’ll... do this some other time.”

“I’m not cold,” Bucky said, shivering at the loss of Steve’s closeness. “And there _is_ no other time.”

Steve let out a breath, fingers curling into fists. With his back still turned, he said, “Then let’s not. I’ll take you back to the hotel. After last night... I can’t keep my distance, like I thought I could.”

_Fuck._

_Fuck, fuck, fuck._

Bucky desperately wanted to plead with him, but the set of Steve’s shoulders was an impenetrable wall, and Bucky was afraid that touching him would, at this point, feel like stone or like fire. “I don’t want you to, but I understand why you feel you should.” He walked up to stand behind Steve and lowered his voice to just above a whisper. “What would it take?”

Steve took a breath as though bracing himself before he turned. Bucky couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen real tears, away from cameras and directors and makeup artists hovering to do touch-ups, until right now. “Nothing,” Steve said, brushing his fingertips up Bucky’s bare right arm. “I’m not going to give you a list of terms, Bucky. Even after all those years apart, you’re still one of the most important people in my life. I will _always_ be your friend. But anything more would complicate things too much, and I’m not going to do that to either of us. Okay?”

“ _No!_ That is the opposite of okay. I want this so fucking bad, Steve.” Bucky stepped close enough to wipe a tear away. “And it isn’t impossible. Jimmy Barnes disappeared. James can, too. Because _Bucky_ has always known that real connection is more important. And if you and I have _anything_ , it's that. We’ve never been _friends_ , Steve. Admit it. I can’t learn how to do that now. Not after having everything in me blown wide open yesterday — and last night.” He held out his hand, terrified Steve wouldn’t take it. “Please don’t write me off just because I’m some fucking celebrity. Because I’d be willing to trade that for you any day. Always have been.”

“I’m not going to let you throw away everything you’ve accomplished after _one day_ ,” Steve insisted, putting his hand on Bucky’s arm to press it back down.

_Terror justified._

“It’s a fucking sci-fi movie that has more close ups of my arm than my face. Fuck you ‘not letting me’ do _anything_.”

“And you’ve got a love interest who’s half your publicity campaign,” Steve said, eyes narrowing. “You’ve got a public image to worry about, and that doesn’t include you coming out of the closet! Maybe — _maybe_ — for another A-lister, but not for some nobody from Brooklyn! And I’m _not_ hiding. I didn’t want to —” He cut off and took a deliberate step back. “No.”

“Jane and I are going our separate ways when the media parade for the movie is over. And fuck my public image if it can’t include that. If no one wants to hire me for movies because I’m queer, then I’ll do Broadway. Doogie Howser did it, and you're so much hotter than his husband.”

“That’s hardly a qualification for throwing away everything you’ve built.”

“What’s to throw away? I’m only acting in _The Winter Soldier_ to build my cred so I can direct. Nick knows that.” Bucky stepped closer to Steve, hesitantly. “If you don’t want me, fine. That’s one thing. But don’t use my ‘career’ as the excuse.”

Steve didn’t back away, but Bucky recognized the stubborn set of his jaw, the way his shoulders had gone tense. “Your _career_ is the only reason I’m even here! We haven’t _‘always’_ been friends, Bucky. Summers, yeah, when you could play at slumming it, but then you went back to your mansions and tutors and nannies and forgot I even existed.”

Bucky felt his jaw drop. “I _never_ forgot about you. Not during winters, not in the fifteen years since. You were my only real friend for six years. I missed you so fucking —”

“You never answered my letters,” Steve interrupted coldly. “Not _once_. You never answered, and you never looked for me, and if I hadn’t come to save _your_ ass, you probably wouldn’t even remember my name.”

That stopped Bucky cold. “What letters?” He’d always assumed that Steve only wanted to keep the friendship something that happened during the summertime. And it had been rough, but he’d dealt with it. The idea that Steve had written, and Bucky hadn’t known, brought back all the pain of missing him again. “You wrote me? I... I never got anything.” He’d gotten tons of fan mail back then, so his handlers had probably filtered it out with the rest of the letters. That changed everything he’d ever thought about Steve, and what they might have meant to each other, even back then.

_Fucking fuck._

“I swear to God, Steve. If someone had shown me a letter from you, I would have written back in a heartbeat. I just figured you didn’t want me to...” Speaking of tears, he could feel them burning. His voice came out small and rough.

The anger left Steve’s expression, and his tense shoulders slumped. “Different worlds, Bucky,” he said softly. “I’m sorry — for all of this. But really, I shouldn’t have come here at all. I’ll send Nick the pictures. He can figure out how to best use them.” He looked past Bucky, into the back of the SUV. “Put your shirt back on. We can be back at the hotel pretty quick, once I pack up.”

People always talked about heartbreak like it was a legitimate thing. They were only half-right. Bucky could feel his heart coming apart, but it felt like it was being torn slowly to pieces, not cracking in two. And it made the tears in his eyes spill over and his chest collapse on the last of his breath, and he wanted to smash the car with his metal fist until it wouldn’t run.

He turned away from Steve and climbed into the backseat of the SUV to curl up in a ball and figure out how to stifle the sob that filled his throat. He _knew_ Steve had always been too good for him, but it was devastating to have it said, point blank, to his face.

It took Steve forever to stow everything in the back of the SUV. After closing the back door, he got in the driver’s seat and steered them in a slow U-turn, bouncing over the gravel parking area. His sunglasses were on, and Bucky had no idea if Steve looked his way once. He didn’t say anything until they were through the spa gates and pulling up to the front doors.

“Do you —” Steve began, head lifted as if looking in the rearview mirror. Then he looked back down, asking, “Should I go pack the rest of the gear that’s in the room?”

“I don’t want you to leave. I will _always_ want you around, even when you couldn’t care less. But if you put a camera anywhere near my face, I will crush it to pieces and grind the lenses to dust.” Bucky opened the door to step out. “I’m going to take a hot bath with whisky. You do what you need to do.”

Steve turned and looked at him — or towards him, anyway. “All right,” he said quietly. “I’m really sorry, Bucky.”

“I’m not.” Bucky got out of the car and slammed the door, half desperate to believe Steve wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye, half praying that he’d get the fuck out before Bucky could stumble out of the bathtub in an hour and make everything that much worse.


	13. Chapter 13

**Friday, April 11, 2014**

It took Steve forty minutes to pack everything only because he couldn’t risk breaking any of the fragile equipment. With luck, he’d make it back to Santa Fe before the store closed, so he could return it all and get to the airport. He’d go standby. He’d clear out his bank account to change his flight date. Hell, he’d live in the airport for two days, if that was what it took.

He tried desperately not to listen for Bucky, and he didn’t go into the bedroom for his phone charger. He had to have a spare at home. If not, he didn’t even care anymore. He’d figure something out.

The pictures would have to wait until he was back in Brooklyn. He’d transfer everything to Nick, then delete all local copies. To hell with this being his career break. He hadn’t wanted to profit off his friendship in the first place. Now, he’d never be able to live with himself, no matter what the pictures were worth.

Then, when everything was packed in the SUV, he drove out the gates, pulled off to the side of the road, and then dialed the number Natalie had given him over a month ago. The phone rang twice, clicked, then rang again, before Nick himself answered, “This Rogers?”

Startled, Steve said, “Yes. Did —”

“What the hell happened?”

Steve closed his eyes and leaned back against the headrest. “Nothing. Not much —”

“Don’t bullshit me, Rogers. Why did I get a text to change your itinerary, and why isn’t Barnes taking my calls?”

“We... Things got —”

“I have heard _every_ possible story under the sun,” Nick interrupted. “If it wasn’t my damned soldiers doing it, it’s my celebrities. So if you’re gonna say ‘things got complicated,’ then _this_ is gonna get even more complicated.”

Steve sighed, wishing he knew just how trustworthy Fury really was. Sure, as one of the best-paid agent/managers in the business, his loyalty had been purchased, but did he actually give a damn about Bucky? Hell, did _any_ of Bucky’s staff care about him, or was he just another revenue stream for them?

“He needs...” Steve faltered then, because how could he tell Fury that Bucky needed someone who cared? Fury had been part of the marketing decision to present Bucky and Jane as a couple, hadn’t he? And not one of the magazine articles and websites Steve had read mentioned anything about a best friend or confidante. “I don’t know. Maybe his parents?”

Silence. Then, right as Steve started wondering if there’d been some falling-out within the Barnes family, Nick asked, “Is he in danger?”

Steve hesitated, because he wasn’t the one to make that call. Bucky was hurting and alone, but he’d never been one of those self-loathing, damaged celebrities. Even after losing his arm, he’d shown strength and resilience.

And God, the thought that Steve might have been the one to break Bucky... That was too much for him to bear.

“I don’t know,” he finally admitted. “I don’t —”

“Right. You can pick up your boarding passes at the airport,” Fury interrupted before he hung up.

_Shit._

Steve looked back over his shoulder at the resort gates. Should he go back in there and stay with Bucky, at least until someone else came? Or would that just make things worse?

No. It was out of his hands now. Fury had worked with Bucky for years. He would know what to do. Steve would just make things even worse by interfering.

It was a logical decision, but Steve still felt like a coward for turning his back on one of his oldest friends.

 

~~~

 

_Jane._

_Tony._

_Someone._

Text to Jane: _I fucked up. Can you talk?_

The bath was scorching, the whisky was full of ice. The tears mixed with sweat and bathwater.

Text to Tony: _There’s a bottle of Macallan with your name on it in Santa Fe. How soon can you get here?_

Tony: _Make it Glenlivet 21-year, and it’ll be five hours. For Macallan, it’ll be six._

_Get here in four and we’ll taste everything the town has to offer._

Tony didn’t answer. Jane called with a smile in her voice, and Bucky hated himself for ruining her day.

Bucky was still in the bath, drained and refilled again and again, when the door to the suite opened, then the bedroom door, and then the bathroom door. “You’re not wearing pants,” was the first thing Tony said. He put down a bottle of scotch and two glasses that hadn’t come from the hotel and promptly unbuckled his belt. “Never let it be said I’m a terrible guest for outdressing my host. But I’m not getting in there with you. Come on, Ariel. We’ll go see if the hotel has a decent hot tub.” And he dropped his pants.

“Ariel? Shakespeare?”

“Little mermaid. Don’t you have culture? Now get out of there,” Tony said, fighting the pants around his ankles to get out of his shoes. He still had his sunglasses and suit jacket neatly in place. “Hot tub. Snap to it.”

“I’m already a prune. And have no legs, apparently.” Bucky was pretty fucking certain standing was completely off the docket for now. “Just get in. And give me some of that. I’m all out.”

“If I had a dollar for every time I’d heard that. And sometimes, even from a guy in a bathtub,” Tony mused. He finally escaped his shoes, stepped out of his pants, and carried the scotch to the tub. As he sat on the edge and swung his feet over — still in socks — he asked, “Do I need to call a responsible adult here? Because —”

“That’s my job,” Natalie said, pushing open the bathroom door. “Mr. Stark. Mr. Barnes.”

“This is _not_ what it looks like,” Tony said.

Bucky was sure it was exactly what it looked like, but he wasn’t seeing so straight, and Nat was supposed to be somewhere tropical as far as he remembered. But drunk or not, he wasn’t hallucinating her — not with the way Tony also flinched away when she swept into the bathroom to take away the scotch.

“I’ll have dinner here shortly,” she announced. “Mr. Stark, if you’d be so kind as to help Mr. Barnes out of the tub...” It came out as an order, not a request.

“I just got _in_ the tub. Where did you come from?” Tony asked.

“Costa Rica.”

“Nick sent you ’cause I wouldn’t answer his calls.” Bucky wiped his wet hand over his sweaty face to try for some clarity. “I’m sorry, Nat.”

She smiled gently at him. “Then don’t make me carry you out of there, Mr. Barnes.”

“God, she could, too,” Tony said. “You’re the one —”

“I suggest you help him,” Nat interrupted. “Dinner in twenty minutes.”

“No bugs,” Bucky said, attempting to lift himself up. Tony leaned over and dropped his sunglasses in the bathtub, but got his arms under Bucky’s, steadying him.

“Easy. I can’t make you a cybernetic skull. Well, I can, but then we’d have Skynet. I’ve seen your military record, JB. We’re not weaponizing you.”

“I just need a new heart. Maybe lungs that don’t stop randomly. It’s cool.” Everything was frictionless, and Tony was a horrible helper, but somehow Bucky was on the bathmat a minute or seventeen later. Still not standing, but yeah. Baby steps.

And then he was in the bedroom, wrapped up in an inside-out bathrobe, digging in his feet, because he was _not_ going near the bed he’d shared with Steve. Nat and Tony had him by the arms and were arguing in low voices.

“The floor.” Bucky tried to pull the comforter off and almost fell over. Everything went twirly, and his limbs felt liquid, and the sweat on him went ice cold. “Ah. Toilet.” He half-ran, half was dragged back to the bathroom where he remembered puking only once before everything went black.

 

~~~

 

**Saturday, April 12, 2014**

When Bucky woke in the morning, Tony told him there had been at least two hours of retching and saying sorry and swearing to God if they made him sleep in the bed he’d tear them apart. Nat didn’t tell him anything, except when their flight home was departing, which triggered an argument that thundered through Bucky’s skull, because Tony, as he put it, ‘was not waiting on some half-baked civilian airline to fill the tabloids with pictures of a hung-over JB for the unwashed masses to gawk at.’

Clarity only came when Bucky caught the smell of rich coffee and buttery toast, attenuated by the cold, slightly stale air of a plane. He opened a wary eye, but the plane was softly lit, done in soothing shades of beige and tan, with broad leather seats. Bucky’s bare back stuck to the seat, making him wonder why he wasn’t in a shirt.

He felt hollowed out, all his insides scoured clean by the whisky, everything desiccated and delicate and sharply painful every time he moved an inch. The swelling pang of a crying headache paired with the stabby nature of a whisky hangover was murder, but at least it distracted him from a hole the size of a shotgun wound in his chest.

Empty. So empty.

“Are you awake enough to take these?” Natalie asked, holding out one hand with two small white pills.

“Water.” Bucky grabbed the painkillers and popped them in his mouth, swallowing dry. “So much water. All the water.”

Natalie disappeared for just a few seconds, returning with a bottle of cold water. She opened the cap for Bucky, then helped him raise his seat back so he could drink. “We’ll be landing at Republic Airport in just over an hour.”

Bucky nodded. Whatever he paid her, it wasn’t enough. “Thanks, Nat. As soon as the New York premiere is over, I’ll fly you back to Costa Rica for however long you want.”

Instead of leaving him to his misery, she stayed crouched next to his seat. “Mr. Stark wanted me to wake him as soon as you were conscious,” she said quietly. “If you’d rather talk to me, I’m here for you.”

Bucky had to blink a couple times, and even that hurt. Nat had been around throughout the whole Clint situation, and she was perceptive enough to know Bucky’s M.O. So the fact that she had figured out what happened didn’t surprise Bucky. What hit him hard in the chest was the fact that she seemed to care.

“Thanks.” Whatever was in his throat scratched the word to shit, but she nodded in acknowledgement anyway. “It was more of what you witnessed last month, to be honest. Too much emotion and nowhere to put it. Plus a shower photoshoot and kissing.” He rubbed his eyes. None of it felt real anymore. “And cuddling in that bed, before he refused outright to date me because... I don’t even know, because I’m too stuck up or something.”

“I’m sorry.” She rested her hand on Bucky’s metal wrist, so lightly that he barely felt the pressure. “Should I deal with him if he comes around again?”

“He won’t.” Bucky had to pause before saying anything more to keep a waver out of his voice. “But if he does, I wanna see him. I don’t care if that’s weak or stupid. He’s always been...” Bucky wanted to say, ‘the best thing about me’, but that made even less sense than wanting to see Steve when it would be too fucking painful to stand.

Natalie nodded, giving his wrist a quick squeeze. “Should I wake him up” — she tipped her head in Tony’s direction — “or do you want to finish your toast first? You need to get something solid in your stomach.”

“Wake him. He’s the best fucking distraction there is.” Talking with Nat had siphoned off some of the despair, making room for him to finish his breakfast. But if he could convince Tony to come over for a swim and a couple of games of bowling, maybe he’d feel okay enough to pretend to be human again.

Natalie nodded and rose, sliding her phone out of her jacket pocket. She tapped the screen, then turned to look at Tony, just as a loud guitar riff jolted him awake and almost out of his seat with a shout. His phone, which had been tucked right under his ear, went flying, playing a few more bars before it went silent.

“Good morning, Mr. Stark,” Natalie said, absolutely unsmiling, except for the light in her eyes.

“You are —” he began before shutting his mouth, apparently thinking better of it. Instead, he blinked over at Bucky and asked, “Did I take a bath with you?”

“Almost?”

“Excellent. Almost doesn’t count. Pepper won’t kill me,” Tony said, sinking back into his chair. “Coffee me, JB, before I tell Pepper that you tried to seduce me.”

“I promise, Stark, when I try to seduce you, it won’t be with puke breath in a nest of blankets on the floor.”

“Witnessed,” Tony said, pointing right at Nat. “You heard him. When, not if.”

“ _If_ I let it happen, I’d get Ms. Potts’ permission first, for Mr. Barnes’ safety,” Nat said, taking the carafe from Bucky’s shaking hands so she could pour Tony’s coffee.

“Still, _when_ ,” Tony declared, toasting Bucky with the coffee cup. “I’ve still got it. I am awesome.”

Bucky rolled his eyes hard at both of them, but failed to hide his smirk as he held up his mug, because there was no way he could disagree.

 

~~~

 

**Sunday, April 13, 2014**

Steve let himself into the apartment well past midnight. Exhausted by the cross-country flight and the sleepless night he’d spent at the airport, he moved as quietly as he could. He wanted nothing more than to get into his own bed and sleep for a week, but he knew it wouldn’t happen.

This had been one mistake after another. He _never_ should’ve given in to the temptation of the photoshoot. Back when Bucky had been James Barnes, the celebrity on the red carpet, Steve had been able to maintain his distance. Fond childhood memories, an unspoken attraction, and none of this soul-destroying agony.

God, the pain in Bucky’s voice tore at Steve like knives.

He couldn’t go back to bed. Not yet. Instead, he unpacked his laptop and set up the file transfers. Bucky’s filesharing login was still valid, so Steve pushed the ‘private’ pictures there first. The rest, he sent to Nick’s cloud address, without bothering to do any editing. Nick had people who could do post-processing, and Steve couldn’t bring himself to look at them.

He was still awake at four, when Sam came home from closing the bar. “You’re early,” Sam said as he locked the door. “What went wrong?”

Steve looked back at his roommate. There was usually something comforting about Sam — he wasn’t the type to judge or condemn — but tonight, that just made Steve feel doubly guilty. “Everything.”

“Shit.” Sam dropped his bag and crossed to the dining table they used as a shared computer desk, though Steve’s desktop computer took up most of the surface area. “Was he a complete asshole?”

“No. God, no.” Steve looked at the file transfer as an excuse to avoid Sam’s eyes. “I fucked up.”

“You?”

Steve rolled his eyes at Sam’s incredulous tone. “I told him how I feel about him.” He sighed and scratched at the edge of his mousepad. “Even when I _knew_ there was no way it could be anything more... We slept together.”

“At the risk of repeating myself —”

“Not like _that_ ,” Steve protested. “He just... I guess he gets nightmares, and he didn’t want to be alone. Nothing _happened_.”

“But...” Sam raised an eyebrow expectantly. When Steve said nothing, Sam asked, “Did he _want_ it to be like ‘that’?”

Steve hid a flinch, remembering that one kiss. “Yeah,” he said tightly. He opened his mouth to add that they’d _both_ wanted more, but he couldn’t find the words. He regretted his refusal. Telling himself he’d stood by his principles was cold comfort, compared to what he could have had.

“And you didn’t talk to him about it, did you?”

“He really... And what could I _possibly_ say? Sam, just his _voice_... It was like I’d stabbed him or something.”

Sam got up and dragged his chair to the corner of the table, so he could put his hand on Steve’s arm. When Steve turned, Sam pulled him into a hug that cracked through the paper-thin defenses Steve had managed to put up in the last twenty-four hours. And thank God, Sam didn’t say a word. He just held Steve, letting him cry it out in understanding silence that made things worse, not better, because Bucky didn’t have anyone in his life like Sam. Hell, Steve had intended on introducing them, but now that would never happen, either.

It felt like forever before Steve could finally breathe, and even longer before he could force words past the lump in his throat. “Go on. Say it.”

“You know that’s not my style,” Sam scolded gently, rubbing Steve’s back with one hand. “But I will say we should maybe move this to the couch, before we both end up trying to find a chiro who’s open on Sundays.”

With a weak smile, Steve got to his feet and made it the two steps to the couch. He dropped onto his usual side and sprawled against the arm, toeing off his sneakers. Sam took the other end, and they put their legs up on the middle cushion, having long since worked out how to not compete for space.

“So, lemme guess,” Sam said. “You think this is your fault. You said a while back that you’ve had a thing for him since you were kids —”

“It _is_ my fault.”

“Shut up and let me finish, Rogers.” Sam smiled, blunting the sharp edge of his words. “This whole mess started because of a panic over photos of him with another guy. The press jumps over every relationship Barnes has had, but there’s never been a hint of him being anything but straight.”

“He has a career,” Steve protested. “A contract.”

Sam let out a deep sigh. “Yeah. But it’s still somehow _your_ fault? And all of this business with him living in the spotlight and _hiding_ his last relationship with a guy, that’s your fault, too?”

Steve nudged at Sam’s shin. “That’s not fair. He said” — he hesitated; he trusted Sam, but this wasn’t his secret to tell — “the other guy is also in the business. Neither of them could afford to be out.”

“And you’re _not_ gonna compromise on that.” Sam gave Steve a warning look. “Right?”

“I can _say_ I’m not, but it doesn’t mean I wouldn’t,” Steve admitted quietly. “I want to. God, I _really_ want to.”

“And how long do you think you could be happy with that?”

“If it meant I could have him?”

“How long,” Sam continued relentlessly, “before you were so damned miserable that it poisoned everything between the two of you? ’Cause do you _really_ think you could be happy, hiding it? I mean, tell me if I’m wrong here, Steve, but weren’t you saying all this to me not a month ago?”

Steve slumped against the arm of the couch, until he was staring up at the ceiling. “Yeah,” he whispered. “But he offered to give it all up.”

“Uh huh. And when one person gives up everything to get into a relationship? That _always_ works out real well.”

“I know. God, I know.” Steve closed his eyes, trying to keep from crying all over again. Sam moved, jostling Steve’s legs. Then Steve felt the hard edge of a tissue box dig into his abdomen. Steve pulled out one of the tissues with a mumbled, “Thanks.”

“You get any sleep at all? ’Cause you look like shit.”

“No, really, thanks,” Steve said more dryly before he blew his nose. “And no.”

“Right. Go take a shower. I’ll move your pillows into my room.”

“Sam —”

“I’m not going to have you keeping me from my beauty sleep because you’re pacing all damned day. Or worse, clicking away on your computer. And I’m not letting you in my bed smelling of airports, so go.”

Steve lifted his head to smile weakly at Sam. “Wish I’d introduced him to you. He could probably use someone like you right about now.”

Sam’s smile was full of understanding and affection. “Yeah, well, one of you is all I can handle.”


	14. Chapter 14

**August 3, 2014**

“Not me!” Tony said the instant the theme song from _Jaws_ started playing from the seat beside Bucky.

Pepper Potts, Tony’s long-suffering girlfriend, leaned past Tony to look across the narrow aisle at Bucky. “ _Technically_ , FAA regulations —”

“Aw, come on, Pep,” Tony interrupted. “I’ve proven that’s bullshit. JB’s cellphone is A) a StarkPhone and can only crash planes intentionally with an app I absolutely did not give him, and B) his only way to contact the outside world and thus escape my bad influence. Take away the poor boy’s lifeline, and he’ll turn into me, with worse hair.”

“You really don’t use normal human logic, do you?” Pepper asked Tony, deliberately ignoring the way Tony was waving at Bucky as if signaling him to answer his phone.

Bucky grinned at both of them, his look to Pepper a bit apologetic, then swiped open his phone and checked the new text message. It was from Jane, who they’d just dropped off in Los Angeles. She couldn’t miss him that badly already. They’d spent the last month attached at the hip. He figured she was glad to be rid of him after the whirlwind tour of worldwide premieres they’d just finished.

He opened it and found a picture of her hand with a modest diamond ring surrounded by two pale blue stones, too light to be sapphires.

“Oh, my God. Jane’s boy just proposed to her. At the airport.”

“That’s wonderful!” Pepper exclaimed over Tony’s humming _Another One Bites The Dust_.

Bucky giggled and nodded in agreement with both of them, then looked back at the picture. He was super happy for Jane and also relieved that neither of them had to play the pseudo-dating game anymore. He’d been waiting for this moment for a long time. Felt like forever, actually. He replied: _Congrats, babe! But isn’t there a law somewhere that you can’t get engaged until the best friend has met the groom and given their approval?_

_Bite me, Barnes. Not letting you near him until I’ve got his signature on paper,_ she responded.

Bucky knew his grin was bordering on goofy, but the euphoria was starting to hit him. He turned away from Tony to respond. _Well, anything I can do to make that process go smoothly, you let me know. Kisses to both of you. <3_

Pepper leaned over Tony to tell Bucky, “If you need help shopping for her, please let me know. I can do your shopping at the same time I do Tony’s.”

“Can we wait ’til we get the wedding invitation? _If_ we get one?” Tony protested. Pepper ignored him.

“Thanks, Pep. If I need you, I’ll let you know. TS, you know the guy, don’t you? Is he good enough for her?” Bucky had pretty good faith in Jane’s judgment — she had never wanted _him_ after all — but he wanted confirmation from someone else.

“He’s —”

“He’s wonderful,” Pepper interrupted.

“I was going to go with ‘thug’, but okay,” Tony muttered.

“He works out,” Pepper said in a dangerous tone. “ _James_ works out, and you don’t call him a thug.”

“No, he’s Robocop.”

Pepper gave Bucky a pleading look. “I’m so sorry we didn’t let you fly on a normal airline.”

Bucky gave her his best charming smile. “This is actually a thousand times more relaxing than being in a public space. I’m so done with that. I’m not gonna leave my house for at least two weeks when I get home. I’ll accept visits from no more than two people at a time, unless you guys bring JARVIS.”

“Robot party at JB’s — _mmph_ ,” Tony grunted as Pepper covered his mouth with her hand.

“Thank you, James.” She beamed at him, then tipped her head as a low chime sounded. Tony immediately unbuckled his seatbelt, and Pepper smacked his hand, saying, “I’ll get it. James, something to drink?”

“I want a double,” Tony said.

“No. James?”

“Whatever he’s allowed to have. Thanks, Pep.”

As Pepper stepped out into the aisle, Tony said, “Oh! And champagne. We’re celebrating.”

“No champagne, Tony. Not allowed on the plane anymore,” Pepper scolded.

“That was _one time_ ,” he called after her as she walked aft. Then he turned back and sighed at Bucky. “It wasn’t _my_ fault the cork hit that asshole ambassador. And suddenly it’s like I’m a mass murderer.”

“He was a defense minister, and you aimed it at him, shouting, ‘Stark Weapons tech, yee haw,’” Pepper said, deadpan.

“C’mon, JB. Help me out here,” Tony pleaded.

Bucky narrowed his eyes at Tony, then looked innocently over at Pepper. “I mean, it would be nice to toast Jane, but...”

_“And,”_ Tony cut in, “we’re celebrating Sexbot’s free will here, Pep.”

_“What?”_ she asked in horror, coming back up the aisle with sharp, dangerous strides. “Oh, God, what did you build, Tony? _What did you build?_ ”

“Him!” Tony pointed right at Bucky. “He’s free to play both sides of the street! Or under it. Hell, he can get off the street altogether.”

Pepper turned to stare at Bucky. “James, I’m _so sorry_. For... whatever he’s done...”

“I didn’t _do_ anything! I had my socks on!” Tony protested.

Bucky winced, wishing he’d been able to shut Tony up about a minute and a half ago. “He hasn’t done anything, Pepper. He’s right. Now the press for the movie is over, Jane and I don’t have to pretend like we might be dating. She can marry her Hercules, and I can, well  —”

“Marry _your_ Hercules,” Tony cut in triumphantly. “Because I’ve seen his files. ‘Hercules’ works pretty damned well. Did you know he was Special Forces —”

“Tony,” Pepper interrupted. She looked between the two of them, then finally settled on meeting Bucky’s eyes. “If you’re happy, I’m thrilled for you, James. If you’re going to kill Tony, please remember, this is a small plane, and I don’t know if we have parachutes.”

“Kill me? He loves me!” Tony said. “We’re celebrating!”

Bucky nodded. “He’s right, Pep. Tony listened to me blubber about this guy I’m head over heels for, and he knows I couldn’t do anything about it until I wouldn’t have to hide the relationship.”

Pepper’s smile was full of relief. She leaned down and kissed Bucky’s cheek, saying, “I’m very happy for you, then. I’ll get the champagne.” To Tony, she added, “And I don’t need help opening it.” Then she headed aft again.

Bucky turned to Tony, incredulous, as what he said finally registered. “You pulled his files? Seriously? Can I see?”

Tony slid his phone out of his jacket pocket. “Absolutely not. Breach of Defense Department regulations, military codes. Do you _want_ to go to Leavenworth for a million years? They’d confiscate that arm, and I don’t give away free tech samples like that,” he said, barely even pausing for breath, as he swiped at his phone. A moment later, Bucky’s phone buzzed.

He didn’t have to open it to know Tony had just sent him everything he had on Steve. That, or a dick pic; hard to tell with Tony.

“By the way, did you get my gift basket after that trip to Santa Fe?” Bucky had sent Tony a case of Glenlivet 21 as a thank you and apology for saving his ass.

“Of course I did. What do you think we’re drinking at your bachelor party?” Tony got up out of his seat and patted Bucky’s metal shoulder, whispering, “Three minutes, T2.” Then he shouted, “Pepper! Break out the caviar. Or Bagel Bites. Do we have Bagel Bites? Pepperoni goes well with champagne, right?” He headed aft.

Bucky was pretty sure he couldn’t convince Tony that he and Steve were nowhere near getting married, but he also knew there was no reason to try. Tony would keep his mouth shut or joke in a way that no one would understand what he meant, and he’d subtly include Steve in every invite from now on. He’d probably even learn what Steve liked to drink and stock that at the Tower in case they dropped by. That was the kind of friend Tony was.

Of course, that all depended on if Steve was still interested in pursuing something with Bucky, after months of radio silence. He’d told himself he was too busy to get in touch, that the time zone math was too complicated given they were in a different city every few days, but Jane had sent and received a steady stream of texts and emails and photos and phone calls to and from her boy.

Bucky had needed to put a moratorium on her sharing them with him after the first week, because it just highlighted the fact that Steve hadn’t gotten in touch once. Not with him, and not with Fury’s office. Even after Steve’s photos of Bucky had been splashed over the covers and center spreads of most of the major domestic mags and had been picked up by the foreign press as well, particularly online, Steve hadn’t gotten in touch with _anyone_.

Suddenly, Bucky didn’t feel like celebrating anymore. The odds that Steve was waiting around for Bucky to get his act together seemed insanely slim. Especially as his photography career was almost certainly taking off.

At least Bucky had managed to make that happen for his old friend, whatever else occurred.

“Hey, Skynet!” Tony shouted. “Nick handles all your publicity, right?”

“Yeah, why?” Bucky got up and walked towards aft, where Pepper was holding out a full champagne flute. He nodded thanks as he took it.

“Your coming out party. What’s your favorite club?”

“Oh, my God,” Pepper said, closing her eyes.

Tony grinned at Bucky. “Come on, JB. What’s your thing? Decent music. None of this pop or eighties throwback stuff. Other than that, anything you want. Or should I just get Nick to give me the dirt?”

“Look, Tony, I know this is a foreign concept to you, but I’m going to do this as quietly and casually as possible. No announcement, no party, for Christ’s sake. Just, you know, not being seen with female companions anymore, and hopefully, trying to date this guy that I’ve known for a really long time, someone not in the industry — well, not really — and seeing how it goes.”

“But —”

“We will, of course, respect your wish for discretion,” Pepper said, clenching Tony’s hand. “And we wish you all the best of luck. Don’t we, Tony?”

“We-e-e — Yes!” Tony said, jerking his hand free of hers with a wounded puppy look that she ignored.

She smiled at Bucky and lifted her glass. “To love. The normal kind,” she added, giving Tony an exasperated look that didn’t quite hide her fond smile.

“Hey. He could do worse than get a guy like me,” Tony said. “But yeah, this one seems pretty normal.”

“And if you feel like sharing, please let me know,” Pepper told Bucky, timing it just as Tony took a sip of his champagne.

Bucky laughed as Tony just barely managed not to choke-spit his champagne. “I didn’t know there was a ‘normal kind’ of love, but if I find it, I’ll definitely share.” He winked at Tony. “With you too, big guy.”

 

~~~

 

After a quick, tired goodbye at Republic Airport, Tony and Pepper boarded a helicopter for the trip to Stark Tower, and Bucky got into the car Pepper had arranged to take him home. He was half asleep, but he wanted to take advantage of finally having a moment’s privacy. As soon as he confirmed his address with the driver, he opened Tony’s email on his phone, zoomed the text to keep from straining his eyes, and started to read.

And found himself holding his breath as he dug through the dry military text to find out what Steve really had been doing with 7th SFG. Small-group missions, either US-only or joint missions with allies, including direct attacks on the heads of certain drug cartels. His Afghanistan missions had been similar operations: targeted, low-profile attacks and — there was no other way to put it — assassinations carried out by a small team. Steve had never operated solo, but sometimes he’d gone into the field with only a handful of friendlies for backup.

He’d done rescue missions, too — ones that had Bucky shivering at the memory of his own captivity. No wonder Steve had such an interest in Bucky’s POW video. It would have been both professional and personal. Bucky couldn’t help but wonder what course his life would have taken if it had been Steve’s unit that saved him.

Before he could start regretting the way so many things had panned out, the car pulled up to his front gate. He distracted himself from calculating how soon he could get ahold of Steve by tipping the driver well for carrying his overnight bag to the house.

As Bucky let himself in the front door, the first thing he heard — the thing that stopped him right in his tracks — was the bright sound of Natalie’s laugh. Not that she didn’t laugh. It was just so rare that he couldn’t help but grin, hearing it.

And then she said, “Five snipers, not seven. Here, here, and here, and two patrolling along this edge.”

Bucky blinked. What the hell was she talking about, snipers? Unless maybe she’d spent the whole time while Bucky was gone playing Halo or Battlefield? He thought he’d sent her back to Costa Rica for the last month...

“This side garden’s already covered by the floodlights,” said another voice, and holy mother of fuck, did he know that voice. Just hearing it shot a spike of adrenaline through Bucky’s system.

_Steve_.

Nat laughed again. “Hmm. So, four? One here, covering both sides of the corner? It’s too distracting, having to turn.”

“You’re good,” Steve answered with a sly laugh of his own. “Where’d you say you were trained?”

“Girl Scouts. I have a merit badge,” Nat deadpanned.

When the fuck did Steve and Nat become besties, and what kind of crazy mission were they planning together? Bucky walked slowly and quietly to the kitchen doorway.

“Have you seen the SGR-A1?” Steve asked. “They’re —”

“The Korean DMZ?” Nat interrupted. “Isn’t there an upgrade?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

Natalie and Steve were leaning over the kitchen island, where the house blueprints were spread out, edges held down with coffee cups. Both were in dark suits. They were standing companionably close, shoulders bumping as they talked. Bucky couldn’t tell which person he was more jealous over for a moment.

“It was at SOFIC — the Special Forces —”

“Convention,” Steve interrupted. “You’ve been?”

“Once. They had a turret that could hit a thermal target from three klicks.” Natalie turned, asking, “Something wrong with — _Mr. Barnes._ ”

Steve twisted, eyes wide with surprise. “Bucky?”

“Hi, honey, I’m home.” Bucky barely managed a bewildered smile at the two of them.

Nat’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Your flight wasn’t supposed to land for another five hours. Mr. Stark was at the Tokyo premiere.” One eyebrow twitched up.

“He offered us a ride. Jane couldn’t say no.” Bucky walked toward the island, keeping his eyes on the blueprints. “What have I missed? A lot, apparently.”

“Would you excuse us, Steve?” Nat asked, pointing towards the living room. Steve nodded, giving Bucky a quick look before walking out. Nat turned back to Bucky, saying, “Adding to your security staff. He has top qualifications.”

_What?_

Why the fuck would Steve want to work security, when he was undoubtedly getting traction in his photography career?

Bucky shook his head. “Absolutely not. Steve is not working for us. Are you insane? I’m not asking him to —” He raised his voice to carry through the house. “Steve! Come here a minute!”

“Nick sent him —” Nat began as Steve walked back in, stopping just inside the doorway, looking warily at both of them.

“What are you doing?” Bucky wasn’t upset. He _wasn’t._ He was just fucking confused, and really damned jetlagged.

Steve glanced at Nat before saying, “Interviewing for a security position. If this is a bad time, I can come back.”

“What, the money from all the photos you sold wasn’t enough? Need a part-time gig? I don’t get it.” Bucky was torn between how fucking good it was to see Steve again, especially in that suit, and how this was the exact opposite of how he wanted it to happen.

Quietly, Nat told Bucky, “You’re not allowed to ask those sorts of question, Mr. Barnes.”

Bucky turned on Nat. “ _I’m not fucking hiring him!_ He’s my oldest friend, and he should be taking —”

“Bucky,” Steve interrupted, finally closing the distance between them. He glanced at Nat, asking, “Could you give us a minute, ma’am?”

Nat nodded, giving Bucky a slightly worried look. “I’ll be in my office, when you’re done,” she said.

Steve watched her leave the kitchen, then turned back to Bucky, saying, “I’m sorry. This — It was the best excuse I could think of. But only if you want me around. If not, I can go. Nobody will think it’s anything but a job.”

“God, don’t go, I’ve missed —” Bucky reached out to touch Steve’s arm when the penny finally dropped, and he understood. “Wait, no. Steve. You said you didn’t want to hide. Don’t become my bodyguard so that people won’t...”

“It’s okay,” Steve insisted. “Really. I’ve thought — God, it’s _you_ , Bucky. You’re not _him_. It’s just a part of your job, that’s all. Please, give me another chance?” he asked, holding out his hands.

Bucky took Steve’s hands and stepped in close, resting his forehead on Steve’s shoulder. “No, Steve. I don’t want you to do this. I just finally got the chance to get out from under all this shit, and now you...” He sighed, loving that he finally got to touch Steve again and hating the conversation they were in. “Look, Jane just got engaged. My contract with the studio is finally up. I’ve already talked to Nick about how to slowly shift my image and not have to hide anymore. He’s got a whole plan. Don’t go back on the one thing you swore you wouldn’t just for me.” He was too tired for this shit. Steve felt so good, but his idea was a horrible one. He’d been right months ago. No one should have to hide something like this.

Steve shook his head, hands tightening around Bucky’s fingers. “Two different circumstances. You can’t just... draw a line in the sand and say ‘no, never,’ because you can’t anticipate what happens in the future. You’re _different_ , Bucky. You’re not gonna drag things out for four years, and then dump me to play straight.” He turned and kissed the side of Bucky’s head, saying, “I trust you. And this way, you can still have your career. Nobody’ll even notice me.”

“But that’s the problem. They _should_ notice you, and not because you’re with me. Because you’re fucking _good_ at your art and should be practicing it all the time. Bruce texted me last week about getting your number to set up a shoot with you. Bruce fucking Banner, who hasn’t sat for anyone except Annie Leibovitz for like five years. My acting career is definitely not worth saving at the cost of your photography.” Bucky raised his head to look into Steve’s eyes. His gorgeous, sweet, serious eyes.

“You’re more important,” Steve said, letting go of Bucky’s hands so he could pull Bucky closer, into his arms. “If you’ve constantly got a photographer next to you, you might as well put a Pride bumper sticker on your limo. They won’t look twice at a retired soldier.”

Bucky wrapped his arms around Steve’s waist and buried his face in Steve’s neck. “I don’t fucking care what people think. I’m not even taking on new jobs right now, so any pictures that are gonna be taken of me will be by you, in bed, hopefully. And I swear to fucking God, Steve, if you insist on giving up your craft for me, I will dump you right the fuck now.”

Steve sighed, holding Bucky tight. “It’s done already, Buck. Nick signed off on it, pending Nat’s approval. And I think she’s on the verge of asking me to marry her, so if you say no to me... well, I’ve got a fallback plan,” he teased.

“I’m serious, Steve.” Bucky pulled back so he could make eye contact. “I absolutely refuse to let you pretend to be my bodyguard. I will call up Fury right now, and I’ll fucking fire Nat if she makes one word of protest. Though she won’t because you’ll be here all the time anyway, and I’ll learn how to share you if I have to.”

Steve let out a choked laugh. “Well, she _is_ awfully pretty,” he said thoughtfully. “Nick said that’s why she doesn’t do security on the road for you. Too many rumors. So I could have you when we’re traveling, and her when we’re here?”

“Only if you’re _not_ my bodyguard.” Bucky pulled away from Steve completely to get himself a bottle of water from the fridge. “This is fucking ridiculous. I can’t win. In April you refused to be with me when it had to be a secret, and now you’re the fucking James Bond of relationships. How do I make this clear to you? _I don’t want to hide anymore._ ”

Steve picked up one of the coffee cups and leaned against the island. “What about your career?”

“What about _yours_?” Bucky sighed, bordering on angry and unable to diffuse it. “I told you months ago I don’t fucking care about having a career anymore if it has to be in the closet. And I’ve been spending every second I can spare since, trying to figure out how to make the transition. There’s a whole protocol at Fury’s office right now, called _Operation Long Way Out._ ”

“I’d comment on your choice of codenames, but you’re standing too close to that block of knives,” Steve said dryly. “How about we just give this a try? We only had one day together, Bucky. It might be a disaster. In a week, you might hate me.”

Bucky huffed a laugh. “I didn’t get sick of you for seven weeks straight, six years in a row. I’m pretty sure it’ll take more than one week.” He approached Steve again. “Here’s the problem, though. I have a policy not to date anyone in my employ, so I’m afraid I’m going to have to reject your application, no matter how good your interview was.”

Steve sighed and put his cup back down. “We’re not kids in summer camp. No matter how much you remember about hanging out with me, you don’t know what I’m like in a relationship — just like I don’t know anything about you, except what I’ve seen in the tabloids. Please, just... I don’t want to wreck your career on a chance.”

“I don’t know what you think dating a celebrity is like, but most of the time it’s blissfully photo op free. In fact, if I leave this house for at least the next month — which is fucking unlikely — it will be to go somewhere that photographers are definitely not allowed. Unless, of course, that photographer is my date. So I’m pretty sure we have time to figure this out before someone even thinks to notice me again.”

Steve closed the distance between them and ran his hands up Bucky’s arms, to his shoulders. “Right now, _nobody_ knows, except Sam. Everyone else really does think I’m here for a job. I would never forgive myself if this got out, and then we broke up, and you spent the rest of your career paying for it. Hell, after how I left you in New Mexico... I wasn’t even sure you’d be willing to give me a second chance.”

“After you left me in New Mexico, it was only by the grace of Tony and Nat that I’m around to give you a second chance.”

_“What?”_ Steve’s hands tightened, digging into Bucky’s muscles, compressing the plates on his left shoulder until they ground together. “What happened?”

“I sat in a hot bath and drank an entire bottle of whisky. Took about four hours. Then they showed up and babysat me while I —”

“You _fucking idiot_ ,” Steve said, pulling Bucky hard against his chest. “God, Bucky...”

Bucky leaned into Steve, letting him support most of his weight. “Yeah, well. Heartbreak doesn’t look good on anyone. I thought you were done with me forever. What changed your mind?”

Steve sighed, turning to kiss Bucky’s ear. “I think I realized I might be in love with you. Even back then — When I left, all I wanted to do was go back, but...” He shook his head. “Now that you’re here, it’s not ‘might’.”

_Fuck._

_Yes!_

“Thank God. I was starting to wonder if I was the only crazy one around here.” Bucky laughed in relief. “Well, that might still be debatable, but fuck.” He rubbed his stubbly chin against Steve’s cheek. “So much of that time with you was remembering how good it had felt to be around you at camp, but it wasn’t until afterwards that I made the connection with what that feeling actually is. I’ve been in love with you since before I knew what that even meant, Steve. Before I knew I _could_ love a guy.”

“Okay. Okay, how about this?” Steve asked, looking back towards the blueprints. “You’ve got a contract with a security company to patrol the grounds a few times a day. Cancel it for a month. Give Nat a vacation, if you don’t trust her _completely_. Then we give this a try — _if_ you let me also handle your security. This way, if it doesn’t work, you haven’t burned any bridges.”

Bucky was going to give both Nick and Nat a stern talking to about letting Steve get this fucking security idea in his head. He was never going to be able to get it out again, and it was going to drive Bucky crazy. “Nat doesn’t go anywhere when I’m home. Fury’s orders. And the only way I’ll even _think_ about saying yes to that ridiculous idea is if you promise to set up at least two photoshoots in that time. They don’t even have to be with my friends. It can be anyone you want.”

“No. Because for the next month, I’m going to do everything I can to make you completely sick of me. I’m not leaving you alone for five damned minutes, much less to go stare at someone else through a camera lens.”

Bucky leaned in and kissed Steve’s neck, then let his lips trail along Steve’s jawline as he spoke. “Hmm. I like your commitment. But I’m not sure you’re fully aware of how hot I get watching you work, so it’d really be doing me a favor if you would, and I’d definitely make it worth your while after.”

Steve laughed softly. “Maybe — _maybe_ — you, but nobody else. I’d have to dig everything out of my closet. I haven’t done any shooting since New Mexico.”

_Fuck._

That was a bad sign. Bucky had consoled himself about not hearing from Steve with the thought that maybe he was getting a lot of work done, and the idea that he hadn’t even taken a casual shot of a friend was a really sad one. Bucky had watched Steve fall in love with the camera and what it could do back when they were kids. The fear that Steve would set that aside for _him_ made him panic.

“Then I’m commissioning you to do a photojournal of life in my house. I want serious amounts of documentation of that month you’re here.”

“Bucky?”

“What, Steve?”

“This house is horrible. This is the most hideously overblown testament to eighties boomer money that I’ve ever seen. I’d rather live on that horrible hotel couch for a month than document this architectural disaster.”

_Oh, for Christ’s sake._

“Fine. You know what? Consider it a series of ‘before’ pictures, and then we can redecorate whatever offends your sensibilities. Or you can just go back to Brooklyn with your sense of style and leave my family home alone.”

“Sam’s the one with the queen-sized bed. And all three of us won’t fit,” Steve said, grinning at Bucky. “Besides, the whole apartment can fit in this kitchen. I don’t know if you can handle that sort of lifestyle change.”

“Well, you should have thought about that before you insulted my house.” Bucky huffed away from Steve, trying to hide his smile, then relented and grabbed Steve’s hand to pull him towards the master suite. “I haven’t shown you the one set of rooms I re-did when I moved back in. Come insult _my_ taste, instead of my mother’s from back when everyone had feathered hair.”

Laughing, Steve followed, though after only a few steps, he pulled Bucky back into his arms. “Can we leave the tour for later? Is there a couch anywhere in here that I won’t hate? Because I’d really just like to hold you for a little while, maybe convince myself that this is real.”

Bucky tilted his head and kissed Steve lightly on the lips. “Bed. Nothing less than a king-sized bed, Steve. I want as many cuddling options with you as possible.” He leaned back in to nip at Steve’s bottom lip before adding. “And, you know, any other options we might come up with...”

Steve tensed — barely enough for Bucky to notice, but Bucky was paying close attention at the moment. “I’d really rather take things slow,” Steve said tentatively.

Mentally kicking himself for jumping the gun, Bucky kissed Steve’s cheek and continued to pull him towards his rooms. “However slow you want, Steve. I promise. Take all month, I don’t care. Just please, right now, take me to bed and spoon me to sleep. It’s already two in the morning tomorrow for me, and I just spent the past twelve hours in a very small plane with Tony fucking Stark.”

“God, you’re a fucking idiot.” Steve stopped, looking back down the hall. “Will Natalie talk?”

“Never. Even less of a chance now that she likes you better than me. Come on, babe.” Bucky tugged Steve to get him walking again, but Steve stood his ground.

“I’ll meet you. Go close the curtains and make sure the doors are locked. Let me deal with Nat and your site security first.”

“I’ll be asleep before you get there, just warning you. Jetlag is one of the few insomnia-proof things I’ve come across.”

Steve pulled Bucky in for a quick kiss. “Brush your teeth and change. By the time you’re done, I’ll be there with you. Please, let me do this?”

“I’m going to deeply regret falling in love with an ex-Special Forces officer, aren’t I?”

“You forgot the ‘sir’, Sergeant,” Steve scolded.

Bucky grinned, wide and sleepily. The adrenaline was wearing off, his heartbeat was quieting down, and the exhaustion was kicking in. “Hmm. I’ll use it when you’ve earned it, Captain. Go. Hurry back. I need you.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Monday, September 8, 2014**

“We could’ve just got a moving truck.” Bucky was sprawled out in the passenger seat of his SUV, seeming perfectly content to let Steve drive it.

“I don’t have that much,” Steve said for what felt like the tenth time. He glanced at the dashboard clock, wondering what the hell had possessed him to suggest going to Brooklyn in the middle of the day. He’d been thinking of Sam’s late-night schedule, rather than the traffic. Tactical error.

“Yeah, but with a moving truck comes movers, and that means us _not_ carrying your stuff.”

“Lazy. You have a cybernetic arm. You can carry the damned truck, if necessary,” Steve teased, shooting Bucky a quick grin, right as the next lane got moving. A quick tap on the gas, and Steve drove into a gap barely six inches longer than the SUV. “Text Sam for me? Let him know we’ll be even later.”

Bucky grabbed Steve’s phone from the center console. “What’s your unlock code?”

“Nat’s birthday.”

“Why not mine?”

“I’m just using you to get to her. I thought you knew.”

Bucky glared at Steve, but his expression held no real heat. He shrugged as he fished his own phone out of his pocket and unlocked it, tapping and scrolling for a bit. “She _is_ the smart one, after all. And I’m pretty sure she’s more deadly.” He set his phone on his knee and referenced the screen as he tapped on Steve’s phone, then typed quickly for a couple moments. “If you get Nat, can I have Sam?”

“Heh. Let’s see if he’d be willing to put up with you first,” Steve said, trying to hide his anxiety. He and Bucky had been together for just over a month, but their schedules had never worked out with Sam’s. Every attempt at the dreaded boyfriend-best-friend meeting had been sidelined because of the home remodeling project, last-minute shifts at the bar, and other emergencies. Moving day was a terrible time for them to meet, but it was the best Steve had managed.

After Bucky set Steve’s phone back in the console, he sat up straight and rested his left hand on Steve’s knee. “Is he gonna be mad that I’m stealing you from him?” The question was confident, even teasing, but Steve could hear the little edge of anxiety in Bucky’s voice.

“He’ll be happy that we’re happy.” Steve shot Bucky a grin and teased, “But really, I shouldn’t even let you meet him. You have no idea what a good guy he is. After him, you won’t want anything to do with me.”

“Hmm. Honestly, I’m only with you because of how _not_ perfect you are. There is such a thing as too good, after all.” Bucky squeezed Steve’s knee, and when he looked over, Bucky winked at him.

Steve laughed and touched Bucky’s hand for a second, before he hit his turn signal and switched lanes again. “Just be yourself. I’ve already told him all the embarrassing camp stories I could remember, so there’s no sense pretending.”

“Well, fuck. There goes any chance I had of impressing him. Thanks a lot, Steve.” Bucky’s voice was mock whining, and he sighed dramatically. Then he chuckled. “Does he know how much you like me, at least? That’s gotta be some sort of endorsement, right?”

Steve caught Bucky’s hand and lifted it for a quick kiss, though he didn’t take his eyes off the traffic. They were behind one of those deathtrap Smart Cars, and the SUV was so big, Steve might not notice running the thing down. “I told him I was in love with you before I even told you. So yeah, I think he’s got some idea.”

Bucky’s breath caught, and he squeezed Steve’s hand. His voice was teasing when he found it again. “Should I get his number so he can keep me updated on things? I’d hate to always be the last one to know...” He pulled Steve’s hand over to his side of the car and started brushing his lips back and forth over Steve’s knuckles.

The thought of Bucky and Sam being friends — legitimate friends, and not just polite acquaintances because of Steve — made him grin. “Sure. Though Sam was an officer before he became a bartender. He knows interrogation. You may end up giving away more intel than you get.”

“Pararescue, right? Believe me, I don’t plan on crossing him any time soon.” Steve’s phone pinged, and Bucky reached for it to look at the text. “Huh. He addressed his response to me, even though it’s your phone. Did you tell him you were driving?”

“No.” Steve shot Bucky a curious look. “What’d you say?”

“‘Stuck in traffic. No fucking clue when we’ll get there.’”

Steve laughed. “Yeah, I warned him you swear like you’re from Brooklyn.”

Bucky chuckled and when Steve glanced over he saw Bucky’s smile was wide and sly. “Yeah, well, one of us has to. Will he be offended?” Bucky was asking a lot of questions, and Steve wondered if he was well and truly nervous about meeting Sam.

Steve didn’t answer until traffic slowed from a crawl to a full stop. Then he put his hand on Bucky’s nape and pulled him close for a quick kiss. “He’ll adore you almost as much as I do. You’ll be fine, I promise.”

Bucky tugged on Steve’s lapel to get one more kiss before he pointed out the windshield at the now-moving traffic. “At least he likes whisky. I can win him over with that. It’s how I wooed Stark, after all.”

“Behave yourself,” Steve warned. “You sure as hell won’t drink Sam under the table, if you start a drinking contest. And Nat will kill us both if I let you try.”

“Me? I would never!” Bucky sounded mock offended.“Drinking contests are about quantity, not quality, and if you’re anything to go on, the man’s got taste. Nothing but the best for him.”

Steve shot Bucky a reassuring grin. “With that attitude, you two will get along just fine. And I promise, he really will be happy for us.”

“Okay, good.” Bucky sighed and slouched back down in his seat to watch the road. “Because I’m pretty fucking happy myself.”

“Me, too.” Steve’s lingering traces of irritation at the traffic vanished at the reminder of just how damned lucky he was. He’d rather be stuck in traffic with Bucky than anywhere else, alone.

 

~~~

 

Despite Steve’s assurances, Bucky couldn’t help but feel nervous about Sam. Bucky didn’t have a good track record with the best friends of his partners, and meeting this one on the day Steve was moving out seemed like the cards were stacked against Bucky.

Steve pulled the SUV down a narrow alley, barely wide enough for the mirrors, then turned carefully onto a wider street behind the buildings. He had to maneuver around Dumpsters and trash bins before he stopped at a nondescript metal fire door. “You want to come up or wait in the bar?” he asked, taking the key out of the ignition.

“Isn’t half the reason I’m here to be your packhorse?” Bucky knew he should man up and go meet Sam first, but doing so without Steve felt like a bad idea.

“It’ll take me an hour to get all my cables put away.” Steve tossed the key across the center console for Bucky to catch. “Go say hi to him. He won’t bite, I promise.”

Bucky took a deep breath before opening his door to hop out. “Yeah, okay. But if you need help with anything, lemme know.”

Steve picked up his phone and got out of the car. They met at the back door, which Steve unlocked and held open for Bucky. “I’ll text you when I’ve got stuff ready to move. Don’t cause trouble,” he said, pulling Bucky in for a quick kiss. It helped to unbend him a bit.

“Mmm. Yes, sir.”

Steve gave Bucky a shove into a tiled hallway with two doors. He turned to unlock the side door, saying, “Apartment’s up this way.” Then he pointed at the far door. “Kitchen’s through there. Don’t start any fires.”

Bucky rolled his eyes fondly at Steve, then watched him go up the stairs. Such a beautiful view. He took another deep breath, pulled his baseball cap a little lower, then went through the kitchen and into the main bar area. It was long and narrow, just dark enough to be cozy, with tables along the right and a long, lovingly polished wooden bar to the left. A couple of tables were occupied, along with three lone bar stools.

Bucky immediately recognized Sam from his pictures. He was talking to a woman in a bright blue shirt with _Sam’s_ embroidered over the heart. His eyes met Bucky’s, and he held up a hand, breaking off the conversation. He sent her to deal with the customers as he headed towards Bucky, extending a hand.

“You must be Barnes.”

Bucky reached across the bar and clasped hold of Sam’s hand. It was strong and callused, and the grip was firm without being too hard. He looked up from their hands to see that Sam was looking him directly in the eye. He tried to smile but was pretty sure his effort was a bit weak. “Bucky, if you want. Nice to finally meet you, Sam. Sorry I took your roommate hostage for so long.”

“Yeah, you didn’t know what you were getting into, with that one. You bringing him back or keeping him a while longer?” Sam asked with a sharp grin.

Bucky grinned back. “I had a pretty good idea. He hasn’t changed _that_ much since summer camp. And I think I’ll keep him, if that’s all right with you.”

“Just so long as you feed him and treat him right,” Sam said, and Bucky suspected he wasn’t entirely joking, at least not with that last part. “Have a seat. You want a drink? You’re not driving, are you?”

“Steve drove down, but after all that traffic he might make me drive home. Should take us a good hour or two before we’re ready to head back, though.” Bucky hopped onto the closest stool. “I hear you have a soft spot for whisky.”

“That I do,” Sam agreed, holding up one hand before he went to search the shelves. He returned with a bottle with the number 77 on it and two glasses. “Have you had Breuckelen Distillery’s rye? I like it better than their wheat mash.”

Bucky grinned. He was almost certain that bottle cost about fifty dollars and was one of the more well-crafted locally sourced, locally distilled whiskies out there. They were going to get along just fine. “I confess to drinking more scotch than domestic stuff, but I’m happy to be introduced to a good rye.”

“You won’t be disappointed.” Sam poured two glasses, then slid one across to Bucky. “I’m gonna skip the lecture, since Steve probably warned you I can get overprotective. How are you two getting along?”

“Honestly, it’s good to know someone else worries about him, too.” Bucky raised his glass to clink with Sam’s, then tasted -- and enjoyed -- the rye before answering the question. “We’re doing great. It’s like old times, but without all the unrequited crushing. There’s a decided lack of picture taking, though.”

Sam’s eyebrow arched up. “Still? Shit,” he said, his voice dropping to a worried tone. He leaned against the bar, toying with his glass. “I figured once he got this bodyguard notion out of his head, he’d be back to his old habits. If he’s not... that’s not good.”

Bucky looked him in the eye. “I’m trying, Sam. I promise. I never wanted him to stop. It worried the hell out of me that he’d be willing to give it up. I keep trying to think up projects for him, and half my friends want to book shoots with him. I just dunno...” He dropped his eyes to his glass for a moment. “Any ideas you have, I’m all ears.”

Sam took a deep breath, frowning thoughtfully. “Steve’s the nicest guy you’ll ever meet, unless you go after someone he cares about. It’s gotta be you.” He studied Bucky’s face. “You’re more important to him.”

“Than his art?”

Sam nodded.

_Fuck._

“I don’t fucking want that, though. It’s not right. His art and me, we used to coexist really well. I never felt jealous of it, at all. It’s who he is. Without that, I don’t know who I’ve got, honestly.” Bucky frowned worriedly at Sam. “When I bring it up, he derails me. Think you might have better luck?”

Sam laughed quietly, shaking his head. “Every time I talk pictures with him, he wants me to model. I’ll leave that —”

He cut off, eyes narrowing.

Bucky knew where that sentence had been heading. “Not even me, Sam. If he was at least taking pictures of me, I’d feel better.”

“Yeah, that’s the point, though.” Sam tapped his fingers on the bar. “He’d always be real polite, but persistent. Like he knew where the line was between asking and bugging me. With you, though, that line’s somewhere else. He probably _wants_ to take shots of you, only he’s not going to even ask, ’cause that’s not why he’s with you.”

Bucky gaped at Sam for a second. That felt absurd, but Bucky was willing to trust Sam on this, given how hard it was to decipher what went on in Steve’s head. “But of course it’s not. _I_ know that.” If Steve didn’t believe that he did, however, it would explain why it had been so hard to get him to take the royalties from all those spreads that published over the summer. And why he was reluctant to call back any of Bucky’s friends to set up photoshoots.

“But does he?” Sam asked quietly.

“Shit, Sam.”

“Uh huh.” Sam picked up his glass to finally take a sip and gave Bucky a wry smile. “Steve’s the nicest guy in the world, to everyone but himself.”

_Fuck._

“How do I fix that? I try to be so fucking good to him, but I must be missing something.” For the first time in a month, Bucky started to second guess himself when it came to Steve.

Sam shook his head. “I dunno. Steve’s gone out on a couple dates since we met, but that’s it. Never anything serious.” He took another sip, then asked, “You know how, when you get comfortable dating someone, you stop being careful? Skip a day shaving, walk around the house in sweats, that sort of thing?”

Bucky winced slightly at Sam’s wording. ‘Careful’ was still something he couldn’t afford to give up. That’s how he’d gotten in trouble with the pictures. But Bucky knew what Sam was getting at, so he nodded.

“Steve’s the other way around. The more important someone is — like, the one time someone made it to a third date — the _more_ careful he gets. So with him moving in with you...”

That was so backasswards. “Shit. I’d thought about giving you my condolences at losing such a considerate housemate. Now every time he cleans up I’m gonna worry.”

Sam laughed. “Hey. At least you’re dating him. He was so damned _nice_ to me, I thought about it, only guys just don’t do it for me. Not even the nice ones.”

Bucky couldn’t help raising his eyebrows at that. “Too bad. I can think of two offers you’d have gotten right off the bat. That is, if we weren’t already taken.”

Laughing even more, Sam raised his glass to Bucky. “Thanks. But there’s your problem. The closer you two get, the better he’s gonna treat you. And that means _not_ treating you like a... I dunno. A target?”

 _Target?_ Bucky’s mind went to gun ranges and specks in the distance for a moment before it shifted back to cameras and paparazzi. “I’ve never felt like a target with him. When he takes my picture, it’s...” How could he describe what it felt like? That from the moment Steve first put a camera around his neck when they were fifteen on through that ill-fated weekend in April, the click of a shutter in his hands had always felt like a gift. Never as if something had been taken from Bucky.

“You have any idea how long it took for your agent — Nick? — to convince Steve that those pics he took in Santa Fe were for _both_ your benefit? Otherwise, he’d probably still be hiding in our apartment, ditching the guys Nick sent to pay him.”

Bucky sighed. Thank God Nick didn’t take no for an answer. “God, he really is an idiot sometimes, huh? Steve uses the term ‘A-lister’ for me all the time, but he’s just being kind. I was off the Hollywood radar for so long that no one thought seriously about hiring me until my picture was _everywhere_. And the only reason Nick was able to make that happen was because those shots Steve took were so compelling that everyone wanted them. He’s done wonders for my career. I just wish I could say the same for him...”

Bucky trailed off, because Sam was staring at him, eyebrows as high as they could get. _That_ was the look Steve had mentioned so often — the ‘you’ve got your head so far up your ass that you can’t see daylight’ look.

“Uh huh,” Sam said. “’Cause you haven’t been on every damn magazine and website for the last six months straight. Which one did you miss? American Medical Association journal? Or did they buy your pics, because of that arm?”

Bucky huffed a breath, not out of frustration, exactly, Sam had a point, but still. “Yeah, but that’s what I mean. It was _Steve_ that put me there. Which is fucking awesome. But what has all of that done for Steve lately? If he doesn’t follow it up with something else soon he’s gonna miss his chance to really break into this market.” Bucky looked up from his glass at Sam, seriously. “And let me tell you, it fucking needs someone like him in it.”

“Lemme ask you this. Is he happy? Without taking pictures, I mean.”

Bucky paused to take a sip of his whisky and consider Sam’s question. “Well, yeah, but we’re still in the honeymoon phase of this. And I told him that he can redecorate the house, so he’s all into working on that project now. It appeals to a lot of the same things in him, so I don’t think he’s missing the photography yet. But dammit, Sam. I know it’ll come. He’ll get fucking bored.” Bucky couldn’t quite say out loud his fear of that happening, because he was sure Steve would leave him. And yet that was what scratched at the back of his mind, making him wince.

Sam’s nod of agreement didn’t help. If anything, it made things worse, having Steve’s closest friend — the person who knew him best, even better than Bucky — predicting that their current path was doomed.

Sam finished his drink and eyed the bottle, though he didn’t reach for it. Instead, he said, “Steve loves photography. Only he _hates_ using people. He hated going to events to try and capture — whatever they’re called — red carpet shots or something. He didn’t even like getting incidental people in his landscapes or that sort of thing, without their permission.”

“But asking for him to do a photoshoot — of me or anyone else — is explicit permission.”

“Permission he wouldn’t have without his relationship with you.”

“Bullshit. It’s because of his talent that any of this has happened for him. If he’d been shit, Nick wouldn’t have used his pictures. I’m just the fucking model. It could have been anyone, really.”

Sam shook his head. “Two halves, Barnes. Bucky,” he corrected with a quick smile. “The photographer is only half the equation. You need to convince him that it’s a _partnership_. Not him being a... a parasite on the other side of the camera.”

_Fuck._

“Man, I’ve used all the words I know to explain to him how fucking good it feels to have someone who actually works with their subject to make good pictures. Actors need that more than anything.” Bucky paused to finish off his whisky and slid the glass to Sam. “And I know this goes beyond the work, too. That’s why I want him to make the house his own. If Nick and Nat wouldn’t have three heart attacks each, I’d fucking buy us a building here in Brooklyn, so the space we shared could feel like it was _ours_ , not mine.”

Sam tipped his head and gave Bucky a speculative look. “Yeah, I heard about the remodeling project from hell. How much of that is he doing himself?”

Bucky closed his eyes and hung his head for a moment. “I try so hard, Sam.”

“Whoa, whoa,” Sam interrupted. “Answer me. If I know Steve, it’s gotta be, what, half? More?”

Bucky looked up, then eyed the whisky bottle before answering. “If I push, I can get it down to about seventy-five percent. I’ve put my foot down about the electric. And anything structural. I have guys for that.” He knew his eyes were taking on a pleading look, but he couldn’t help it. “I just thought he’d want to pick out colors and furniture and stuff. Not tear it apart and start over from scratch.”

“Uh huh. It’s probably costing a fortune. Steve’s told me your place is about twenty times bigger than this whole building.” Sam flashed Bucky a brief smile. “And since he can’t contribute financially, he’s gotta do his share in work instead. It’s his way of trying to make it all equal out in the end.”

“God dammit. Can’t I just write his name on the deed and convince him that the update will increase the value of the home so much more than it’ll cost me? I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s fucking hot to watch him work, but we measure ‘equal’ differently, I guess.”

“Exactly.” Sam leaned in close. “Steve doesn’t think _photography_ is work.”

“But that’s just it. He doesn’t understand how much of a favor it is, to get to work with someone as insanely good at photoshoots as he is. His contribution far outweighed any effort I put in as the model. Besides, the royalties didn’t come from _my_ pocket. Should I take him to my next shoot with some boring fashion photographer so he can see why everyone will want to work with him?”

Sam laughed at the thought. “He’d probably be offended if you tried. You’ve just gotta convince him that him taking pictures _is_ work.”

That sounded fucking hard. If Steve hadn’t figured this out yet, Bucky had no way of helping him do so. Being good at something didn’t mean it wasn’t valuable to others. It had taken Bucky until he was a teenager to really understand that what felt like playing pretend with his friends in costume was something people were willing to pay him a fuckton of money for. And once he’d really started to equate it with work, he’d lost the desire to do it as much. But that had been him at sixteen, when everyone felt phony and the whole industry was a big joke.

But Steve at thirty-two had the work ethic of a plow horse. Which, if the remodel was anything to go on, meant put your head down and go until you can’t anymore, then turn around and keep going.

“Work. Jesus. But will that get him to do it again? Like, if I told him I needed new publicity shots...?”

Sam grinned. “Yeah. Yeah, that should do it. That way, it’s about him doing something for you, not the other way around.” His smile turned wry. “In case you didn’t notice, it’s kinda hard to get him to sit still long enough to let anyone do nice things for him.”

Bucky grinned. “Seriously. And then when I do he tells me not to.”

“Be glad you missed his birthday this past summer. I could barely keep him from paying for his half of the pizza.”

Snorting a laugh, Bucky rolled his eyes in commiseration with Sam. “I’m sad to say I’m not surprised.”

“That summer camp you two went to. Usdan?” Sam turned his attention to clearing away their glasses. “I did some digging, after Steve got to talking about it. You have any idea how expensive that place is?”

Bucky shrugged. “I knew it was prestigious, but we could afford anything...” He trailed off, slightly embarrassed talking money.

Sam nodded. “They do scholarships. That’s gotta be how Steve got there. He showed me the apartment block where he grew up. He didn’t have the money for bus fare, much less to get to a fancy art camp on Long Island.”

_Shit._

“Well, he fucking belonged there. He was on a different plane than all those kids whose parents paid for them to pretend to be artists for the summer. Why do you think I was so attracted to him?”

Sam’s eyebrow twitched up. “And he _wasn’t_ attracted to you because of your money, but I bet he was always _aware_ of it. Still is, even more, now that he can take a guess at price tags.”

Bucky guiltily started thinking about his spending habits and decided to ask for Steve’s input more. “Does that mean I should stop offering to take him out to Per Se?” The question reminded Bucky of their first not-quite-date, when Steve had only allowed Bucky to take him out if he played bodyguard. Another way of paying back, Bucky supposed. “Dammit. Money is supposed to make things easier, not harder.”

“Yeah, right,” Sam said, laughing. “What planet are _you_ from?”

“Upper Brookville, Long Island.” Bucky grinned at Sam, more grateful than he could say to have this insight into Steve. ‘Separate worlds’ was right; he just hadn’t known how much until now. “Do you think _I_ should start coming up with ways of contributing that don’t have to do with money, too? Would that help?”

“I dunno,” Sam admitted, though he was still smiling. “Collaboration’s always better, right? Maybe turn your photoshoot into a group thing, not you giving his career a leg up. Let _him_ help you, not the other way around.”

“Yeah, maybe...” Bucky’s mind wasn’t on photography at the moment, or at least not anything more than the equipment itself and how heavy it was. “You know he wouldn’t let me hire movers, right? Maybe I should go check and make sure he’s not carrying everything down by himself so as not to bother us.”

“Who, Steve? What makes you think he wouldn’t ask for help?” Sam asked dryly, waving Bucky towards the kitchen. But before Bucky even got down from his stool, Sam said, “Oh, hey. I’m gonna need _your_ help later.”

“Anything.” It had come out of Bucky’s mouth as a reflex, but upon thinking about it, he realized that he trusted Sam to not ask for anything that he couldn’t — or wouldn’t — give. Which should have been surprising, but wasn’t.

“Don’t let him sneak off when you’ve got everything packed up. I’ve been prepping dinner for three all day, and I can’t eat that many crab cakes by myself.”

Bucky smiled so wide he almost couldn’t see Sam. Steve had praised Sam’s cooking often, and Bucky couldn’t decide who was doing who a favor at this point. “Oh, God. That, I can do.” He stretched out his hand, and Sam clasped it warmly. “Thanks, man. I owe you for this.”

 

~~~

 

Being a lifelong photographer meant Steve knew all the tricks for wrapping cables without risk of damage, though not labeling them. He’d broken down his computer precisely once, back during Sandy, and that had been a desperate rush to keep the computer away from the windows. It had taken him days to get all the cables properly hooked up — an ordeal he had no desire to endure again.

So he’d barely made any progress by the time the apartment door rattled. Probably Sam coming to check up on him. “I’m fine!” he shouted preemptively around the Sharpie cap he’d stuck in his mouth. ‘Fine’ was a relative thing. His fingers were covered with black ink that had bled through the post-its he’d been wrapping around each cable.

“Hey...” It was Bucky’s voice that carried around the door as he entered. “You willing to put me to work yet?”

“No, I’ve —” Steve began before he realized just how little he’d accomplished. He had a small stack of cables and torn-up post-its stuck to the back of his computer, and _nothing_ was ready to go down to the car. “Um.”

Bucky’s head appeared next to the monitor, and his smile went soft and fond as he looked down at Steve on the floor behind the dining room table. His voice when he spoke was more charmed than amused. “Hey, you. How’s it going back here? And how can I help?”

“I, ah...” Steve eyed the back of his computer. There wasn’t room for Bucky to help with the cabling mess, and this probably qualified as fussy overkill. Nat was great with computers. One look, and she’d know how to put the whole thing back together. “Maybe just — no, I don’t know if we have any. Um. There are a couple of pouches in my old kit bag, top shelf of my closet. Could you grab them?” he asked, pointing to his bedroom door.

“Happy to.” Bucky’s smile turned bright, and he leaned over to kiss the top of Steve’s head before he disappeared, presumably to follow orders.

Steve went back to trying to label each connector in a way that wouldn’t fall off as soon as everything was bagged. Bucky was in a good mood, so he wasn’t upset by anything he and Sam had discussed. Not that Sam would do or say anything inappropriate. But Sam could get a little protective, and he hadn’t been very happy with Steve’s bodyguard idea. Plus, Steve was moving out in the middle of their lease, even though he’d insisted on paying up through the end of the year.

Bucky reappeared with one desert camo pouch stuffed with several others, his eyes wide. “Jesus, your old kit is...” He grinned slyly as he handed them over to Steve. “Can I see you in your uniform sometime, Captain?”

“Only if I get to see you in yours.” Steve dropped the pouches next to the cables so he could reach out from behind the table and take hold of Bucky’s leg. “You’re the pretty one, remember?”

Letting himself be pulled around to Steve’s side, Bucky scoffed. “That’s debatable. And anyway, you already saw me half out of mine. Or have you deleted those shots from your memory as well as your hard drive?” He crouched down behind Steve and nipped at his shoulder.

“You were more than ‘half out’ of yours, and you were in the shower at the time,” Steve said, grinning at the memory. “Be glad I didn’t pull rank for all your violations.”

Bucky’s voice was teasing and indulgent as he spoke low in Steve’s ear. “You wanted it _bad_ , didn’t you, sir?” Steve’s breath caught at Bucky’s words. He opened his mouth to respond, but Bucky continued, “How you didn’t just climb into the shower with me, I will never know.”

“Fuck.” Steve caught himself leaning back against Bucky’s chest. “That’s cheating. You know how good you looked.”

Wrapping his arms around Steve’s shoulders, Bucky kissed his temple and hummed thoughtfully. “Maybe, but when you didn’t take the bait...” Bucky shook his head. “You know, we should try that again, at least half my showers are twice as large as that one.”

Steve twisted as much as the narrow space would allow. “Encouraging insubordination, Barnes?” he challenged, kissing Bucky’s jaw.

“Encouraging you to fuck me up against a wall when you’ve got me naked, wet, and slippery. If that’s code for insubordination, then yes.” Bucky leaned over far enough to reach Steve’s mouth. “Come on, do me a favor and give me something to do, or we’ll be here all night.”

Steve gave the table a shove so he could turn around completely. Cables scattered when he got on all fours so he could push Bucky down to the floor. “Sam doesn’t close the bar until one a.m. on Monday nights,” he said, settling down on top of Bucky.

Bucky laughed and rubbed his hands up and down Steve’s back as his grin turned feral. “Well, then... how big is your shower here?”

“Tiny apartment, remember? It’s smaller than your linen closet,” Steve said, leaning down to kiss Bucky’s cheek. “I’m not even sure we’d both fit on my bed.”

“Well, I just made friends with Sam, so I don’t want to make him to take it all back by fucking you in _his_ bed...” Bucky reached up to nibble on Steve’s earlobe for a moment before continuing in a whisper, “If you let me help, we can get this done quick and get back home. Then I’ll let you fuck me in the jacuzzi.”

“Cheating,” Steve accused, unable to hide his shiver. He indulged in one last kiss before he pushed back away from Bucky. “Maybe start in the closet? Everything in there is mine. You can just shove it into whatever duffel bags you find.”

Bucky propped up on his elbows for a moment to look at Steve. “Anything you need, Captain.” Then he leaned forward quickly and pecked Steve on the jaw before getting up and turning toward the bedroom. “The sooner I can get you moved into our house, the better.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Friday, October 31, 2014**

“We’re going —” Steve cut off when he looked into the guest bedroom he’d turned into an office. Bucky had been in there going over Steve’s sketches for the kitchen remodel, but now he was on the phone. “Sorry,” Steve stage-whispered.

Bucky shook his head, blew a kiss, and went back to scowling at the desk. “I’m not fucking kidding, Nick. I wanna know what Lana thinks. And if you can’t get Harvey Weinstein on the phone, what am I paying you for?”

Frowning, Steve backed out and closed the door most of the way. God, he hoped that Nick had _some_ good news. Well, good news as far as Bucky was concerned. _The Winter Soldier_ had blown away summer blockbuster records, which did almost nothing to help Bucky find a movie to direct. Despite one or two gossip mags attempting to make their relationship a ‘scandal’, Bucky was still in demand to reprise his action hero role, which put him in front of the camera, rather than behind it.

Steve was halfway to the kitchen when the gate alarm buzzed. Thinking it was a trick-or-treater, despite the neighborhood, he diverted to the front door, where he hit the intercom button. “Yes?”

“JB! Wait, that’s not JB. Is this Steve?”

 _What the hell?_ A little warily, Steve pressed the intercom again and asked, “Who’s this?”

“‘Who’s this?’ Really? There’s someone on the planet who doesn’t know me? Happy, ram the gates.”

Blinking, Steve opened the cupboard door that hid the video feed from the outside camera. A limo was crammed right up against the driveway gate so the passenger in the back could lean through the window and get close to the intercom.

Still, it took Steve a few seconds to add it all up. JB, a limo, and outrageous behavior... “Sorry, Mr. Stark,” he said, entering the security code to unlock the gate. “Bucky didn’t tell anyone you were expected.”

“I’m never expected. Expect the unexpected — _Happy!_ ” Stark shouted as the limo started driving, pulling him away from the intercom. The limo squealed to a halt three feet past the intercom, then started moving again as Stark sat back down and rolled up the window.

This could be just the diversion Bucky needed. Just the name ‘Tony Stark’ was enough to make Bucky grin — a little dangerously, sure, but not in a way that inspired jealousy, considering how devoted Tony had always been to Pepper. Steve took the phone out of his pocket and hit speed dial 2 as he jogged back towards the office.

“Go ahead,” Nat answered after half a ring.

“Tony Stark’s on his way,” Steve warned. He wasn’t entirely sure Stark wouldn’t try to sneak in through a window or side door, which could get him shot.

“Thanks. I saw. I’m on it,” she said before she hung up, just as Steve reached the office.

Relieved that Nat would wrangle Tony, Steve pushed open the door again. “Buck?” he called quietly.

“Hang on, Nick. What is it, love?” Bucky’s face wasn’t as clouded as before, but he might have been making an effort to be cheerful for Steve.

“Get in your body armor. Tony Stark’s —” The doorbell cut Steve off, which was explanation enough.

Bucky rolled his eyes, but the grin was there. “I’ll be right out. Don’t let him go downstairs without me.” He turned back to the desk and continued his conversation with Fury, saying, “Nick, a tornado just walked in, so you’ve got two minutes before I hang up...”

Steve closed the door and started for the foyer, where he could hear a deep, boisterous voice that sounded like trouble personified. He had a sudden urge to go hide until Bucky was off the phone. What the hell did someone like Steve have in common with Tony Stark? Absolutely nothing.

Bucky didn’t want him going downstairs. There were three staircases down to the basement: one in the study that they’d finally remodeled into an official den, one by Natalie’s office, and one off the pool. The only way to contain a potential threat like Stark was to keep him locked out of the house altogether.

Then Steve laughed at himself for treating Stark like a threat to national security. How much damage could —

_“There you are!”_

Instinctively, Steve took a step back, weight poised to drop into a roll around the corner, breaking line of sight of the deranged ferret who’d appeared as if out of nowhere. Stark was still in his sunglasses, wearing a gray suit, probably not carrying any weapons under the tailored jacket. He was a good six inches shorter than Steve had expected — not that he took up any less room. Personality radiated from him like nuclear fallout from a mushroom cloud.

“Rogers, right?” Stark asked, whipping off the sunglasses to pin Steve with a sharp, intent gaze. “Good God, since when do photographers do amateur bodybuilding for fun?”

Self-conscious, Steve looked down. He’d just taken out the kitchen sink — as in, literally; it was on the floor, waiting for him to haul it to the Dumpster around the side of the house. His T-shirt was filthy and damp in places, and his jeans were still spotted from repainting the TV room. “Er —”

Stark grabbed hold of Steve’s hand for a quick shake. “So that’s why JB’s been hiding you. Where is he? Still in bed? Not yet conscious?”

“On the phone,” Steve said, telling himself not to blush, though it didn’t help. He looked past Stark to Natalie, who was lurking behind him, holding a garment bag. “Was there something —”

“Something? There’s _always_ something.” Stark clapped him on the shoulder and said, “Drinks first. Then we can talk business.”

Hoping Nat could manage Stark on her own, Steve said, “I’ll just let Bucky know.”

Stark’s grin was blinding. “Nah, let Sexbot recharge. We don’t need him. It’s not _that_ type of shoot.”

It took Steve a few seconds to get past the ‘Sexbot’ thing, and once he realized Stark meant Bucky, the blush was _definitely_ not going away. “Shoot? Photoshoot?” he asked, doubting that Stark was looking to go to the shooting range with Nat and Steve. Besides, it wasn’t even their usual night for that.

“Yes, photoshoot. Catch up, big guy. _You_ get to make me famous. Well, more famous. Okay, I can’t _get_ more famous. Beautiful? No, probably have that cornered —”

“Mr. Stark,” Steve interrupted, struggling to keep up with the madness. Or maybe he’d been inhaling fumes from the torch he’d used to break the solder joints on some of the pipes? Stark did have a decidedly ferret-like attitude that surely couldn’t be real.

“Tony. Call me Tony. Or TS. Or whatever you want. ‘Hey, asshole, that’s my wife’ also works.”

“Tony. You —”

“Much better. Now that we’re all friends,” Stark said, turning to address Nat, “first we drink, and then we conquer _Time_ magazine.”

Steve opened his mouth, but Natalie gave him a quick, subtle shake of her head. She turned a serene smile on Stark and said, “Right this way, Mr. Stark.”

“You’re never actually going to call me ‘Tony’, are you?” he asked her.

“I could come up with other names, if you’d prefer,” she offered, turning on her heel and starting down the hall.

“Ah, no. No, we can skip that part.” Stark beckoned Steve to follow. “Come on, Rogers. Time’s a wastin’.”

 

~~~

 

Nick had gone on for four minutes, but he’d used the phrase ‘Lana said’ three times, so Bucky had let it slide. Finally, he’d reminded Fury that it was his job to know this stuff, not Bucky’s, and that he just expected to see a script or two soon, and he was able to hang up.

He headed toward the study to see how Steve was holding up under the manic onslaught of words that was a conversation with Tony Stark, and wondered why exactly they’d been graced with the mad genius’ presence. It couldn’t have been because Bucky had mentioned that Steve wasn’t taking pictures anymore, could it?

Stark had been rambling on about some new project or other and making random leaps in conversation that only someone who knew him well or was paying very close attention could follow, when he’d come out with, “Your boy could do that,” and Bucky had gulped. Getting roped into a Stark project was an experience all its own, and Bucky wasn’t sure Steve was up for that sort of mayhem. He’d tried to fob Tony off, saying Steve couldn’t photograph the new fall line of StarkTech gadgets because his gear was in the basement and he was busy with the house, but Tony had decided Bucky was using Steve as slave labor and had threatened to do something about it.

Apparently, coming over on a Friday afternoon to drink and talk about photoshoots was that something.

Bucky walked in just as Tony was trying to convince Nat it was okay that he’d lit his cigar. Bucky walked over to where Tony was sitting, pulled the cigar out of his mouth, and dropped it, lit end first, into Tony’s glass of scotch, then tossed the whole thing into the lit fireplace. The crash, flare, and sizzle that followed felt like a nice touch.

“No. Not okay, TS.”

“Sergeant Borg!” Tony protested, getting to his feet. “Is this how you treat someone who’s come to save you from mediocrity and boredom? On Halloween? This is a sacred day.”

Bucky submitted to Tony’s bearhug, realizing he actually really needed it, though he drew the line at Tony grabbing his ass. “Tony...” He couldn’t keep a straight face at the innocent look that Tony turned towards him. “What the fuck are you doing here, anyway? And what did you do with my boyfriend?”

“Saving his career. And you know, for a trained Special Forces assassin, he’s awfully skittish. Time to stop feeding him so much espresso,” Tony warned.

Bucky risked looking away from the Stark tornado for a moment to address Nat. “Would you go check on Steve? I’ve got this under control. But bring him back, if you can.”

“I believe he’s taking the kitchen sink out to the Dumpster, Mr. Barnes,” Nat said, deadpan.

“What? Whatting the what?” Tony asked. “Your boyfriend carries sinks for a hobby? Dear God, is the gay sex thing not working out for you two?”

Bucky reached out to cover Tony’s mouth with his left hand, but the bastard dodged away. “Please, Nat? I’ve got this.” He didn’t like to beg, but Nat rarely made him ask more than once.

Nat gave him a faint smile as if silently wishing him good luck. “Yes, Mr. Barnes,” she said before leaving the room.

“That woman is terrifying,” Tony complained, sinking back down onto the couch. “No wonder why your sex life is in ashes.”

Bucky flopped down next to Tony and sighed dramatically. “Where do you get the idea that my... Never mind.” It was a very bad idea to get Tony into a discussion of sex. Very bad. “It’s good to see you, TS, but seriously, what are you doing here, and why are you terrorizing Steve to the point of causing him to not be his overly polite self? What did you say?”

“Nothing!” Tony cast a significant look at the bar, then back at Bucky. “I was an angel. I’m not about to piss off the man who’s going to make me look even more... well, _perfect_ than I already am.”

Bucky sighed again and got up to pour them some of his best whisky. “And where is he going to make you look perfect, exactly? You know we haven’t set him up a studio yet.”

“Anywhere. Everywhere. You have a working shower, don’t you? Or the pool. I brought a swimsuit.” Tony pushed up to his feet and went to join Bucky at the bar. “Look, it’s either your boyfriend or some hack unpaid intern who can’t even afford a StarkPhone to take a decent cover photo.”

“No shower pictures. Seriously, Stark. Not happening.” Bucky handed Tony a tumbler of scotch with one large ice cube in it. “And the pool is supposedly hard to light well. Do you need to be wet? Are you hawking a new torpedo or something?”

“No, I’m just sick of the profile-in-a-suit look that everyone goes for. I’m an engineer. An inventor. I blow things up _for a living_. I want something fun.” Tony raised his brows thoughtfully. “Fire would work. We can do fire. What can we burn around here?”

Oh dear God, there was no force on earth that would get Bucky to leave Steve and Tony alone for the planning of this photoshoot. They would end up on the moon. Literally. Or burning all the furniture in a massive pyre on the front lawn. He took a big swig of his scotch before leaning in close and poking Tony’s chest. “How about that suit you’re wearing?”

“He’s awfully twitchy to start with nudes, but whatever works,” Tony said agreeably. “I’m just glad I left Pep at home. Captain All-America’s file photos didn’t do him justice. One look at him, and she’d leave us both for greener pastures. Or at least broader shoulders.”

Bucky nodded. He had to agree that Steve’s shoulders were stupidly attractive and admitted to himself that he had held off on inviting Jane over for that very reason. “But no nudes, TS. I meant while you were wearing it.”

“I may be hot — Hey! There he is,” Tony said, grinning past Bucky, who turned.

Steve was in the doorway, no longer in his adorably tight, ratty work clothes, though his hair was still disheveled. He gave a sheepish, somewhat nervous smile and went right to Bucky, eyes silently pleading for help. “Sorry. I already put away the brazing torch.”

Bucky slipped his arm around Steve’s waist and grinned at Tony. “Well, it’s your tailor’s lucky day, then.” He turned back to Steve with what he hoped was a calming smile. “Got any brilliant ideas for our pal Stark, here, and his PR campaign?”

Wrapping an arm around Bucky’s shoulders, Steve shot Bucky a suspicious look, though he kept it subtle. “Sorry, I’m still trying to process marble, granite, or stainless steel for countertops.”

Bucky could absolutely not care less about countertops. At least at the moment, when there might be hope of getting Steve behind a camera again. “But our friend is in dire straits here, Steve. He needs something not boring for his torpedo ad, or what have you.”

Steve’s arm tightened slightly. “You’ve gotta have a whole PR department,” he said, giving Tony a smile. “One advertising class fifteen years ago doesn’t exactly make me an expert.”

“My people are good,” Tony said. “I want better than just ‘good’ for my cover.”

Bucky looked over at Steve with a ‘what did I tell you’ expression on his face. “Well, you came to the right place, Tony.”

Steve glanced at Bucky. “The kitchen’s a mess. Water’s off to that whole side of the house.”

“C’mon,” Tony protested. “I need your help.”

Bucky made an educated guess and turned to Tony with his eyebrows raised high in supplication. “In the bottom cupboard behind the bar in the pool — you know, the one that half continues into the entertaining room — there’s a couple bottles of this white and green-labeled Irish whisky called Green Spot. It’s a single pot still, and it’s got the best finish. Test it and tell me what you think?”

“Aah, sure,” Tony said uncertainly. As he started for the pool room doors, he warned, “Happy’s got the limo parked blocking your garage, in case you’re thinking of a quick getaway.”

Bucky laughed and called after him, “It’s our house, TS. We’re not going anywhere.” Once the doors were closed, Bucky turned his attention on Steve. “What’s up, babe?”

Steve leaned one hip against the bar and pulled Bucky into his arms. “Nothing. I was hoping to get the new sink in before the weekend. That’s all.”

Deflection. Bucky was getting better at seeing it. He leaned in to kiss Steve’s jaw, then spoke quietly against his rough skin. “I can help you with that tonight. You don’t have to take Tony’s picture right now, for Christ’s sake. He’s just like a puppy when he gets an idea in his head. A very insistent puppy that will bowl you over if given the chance.”

Relaxing against Bucky’s body, Steve asked, “Is that your way of saying he’s going to camp here for the weekend?”

Bucky paused before answering, because he hadn’t thought that far ahead, but the moment he did, he realized the answer was probably yes. “Um. Not if I can get Pepper to call him home for dinner. Or breakfast.”

“And then he’ll come back Monday, I take it?” Steve laughed quietly and shook his head. “He’s your friend. Whatever he needs...”

Oh, God. Was it really that easy? Make it a favor, and Steve would do it for him? Sam really was a brilliant man. Bucky kissed Steve’s nose in gratitude. “I don’t even know what he needs. He was talking about the pool and then a fire, and I have no idea what the ‘cover’ is of, but... yeah. He’s my friend and he knows you’ll take good pictures for him.”

“ _Time_ magazine, I think.”

_Hell fucking yes._

“Wait, _seriously?_ That’s fucking awesome, Steve!” Bucky cupped his hands to Steve’s jaw and kissed him firmly on the mouth. “Well, of _course_ he needs you to make him look good for that. Jesus.” He was beaming, and he probably looked fucking goofy, but he didn’t care. He was really proud.

Steve gave him an odd smile. “It’s not like it’s anything new for him. He gets more press than you — even with how good your movie did.”

Stupid, adorable, sweetheart of a man. “I don’t fucking care about him; he’s an attention whore that gets his face on every magazine he can. I care about you getting on the cover of _Time_. Your picture. That’s fucking fantastic. And it wouldn’t happen shooting my dumb mug, that’s for sure.”

“Okay, first off, you’re wrong,” Steve scolded, cupping Bucky’s jaw between his hands. “You’re gorgeous, and everyone knows it.”

“Sure, fine, but _Time_ doesn’t care.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “You’ve been on the cover of _Time_ four times — and only once with your parents.”

“Three. That baby pic doesn’t count. But Tony’s been on it more than Steve Jobs and Bill Gates combined.” Bucky turned his head and pressed a kiss to Steve’s palm. “Point is, a photo cred on a _Time_ cover is fucking awesome. Take it and run.”

“Bucky,” Steve protested. “That’s not what your friends are for.”

Bucky sighed inwardly at still having to surmount this mindset. “That’s not what I’m saying, Steve. Look, it’s just like how I told you Jane would want to work with you once she saw what you did with me in April. Tony needs a photo taken. And he knows a great photographer. So instead of trying his luck with whatever random idiot the magazine picks that day, he calls upon his friend, because then he knows he’ll end up looking good no matter what. I’m telling you, this is how it works. We trade favors. And sometimes they are mutually beneficial favors.”

Steve still looked hesitant, but he gave a brief nod. “Okay. But I don’t want — I don’t want this to look like I’m... taking advantage or anything. I’m happy to do this because he’s your friend.”

Bucky was at a loss. “Who could you possibly be taking advantage of? He came to you, not the other way around.”

“Well, yeah. But I’m not doing this to get rich or anything.”

There was the money thing again. Like a landmine in conversation. Bucky had to figure out how to make Steve understand that taking money for his art wasn’t against the rules of being nice. Or something. There was such a thing as a favor for a friend, but when it came with royalties, they were fair game, and Bucky was going to make sure Steve took them. “Okay, sure. That’s fine. It can just be a welcome side effect.”

Steve met Bucky’s eyes for a few seconds of silence. “Okay. But I need time to think. I can’t just...” He got that now-familiar faraway look, and he tipped his head slightly. “I _could_...”

Bucky breathed a sigh of relief and grinned like a mad fool. _Success._ Once Steve was off on thinking of what to do, he was hooked. Nothing could drag him away from it now, not even the kitchen sink.

 

~~~

 

“I thought you said lighting the pool is difficult,” Tony said.

“Just stay back,” Steve warned, being overly careful with where he routed the power cables. The outlets in the pool room were all ground fault protected, but he wasn’t willing to take any chances. “And please, sit down before you trip.”

With a dramatic sigh, Tony threw himself down onto the lounge chair next to Bucky, shoving at his hip to make room. “Is Captain Bossy always like this?”

Bucky only scooted over a couple inches so Tony didn’t look like he was falling off. “Actually, yeah. When he’s working. Patience, grasshopper.” He winked at Steve, then went back to looking at his tablet.

“Captain Bossy doesn’t want you to break your neck,” Steve scolded, turning on the lights. It was nice, being able to work with all of his own equipment, even if the quality wasn’t the same as what he’d used in Santa Fe. He was probably insane for thinking this was a good idea, but... well, not many other photographers would even dare to plan this sort of thing. Not with someone as volatile as Tony Stark.

“As if I would,” Tony scoffed. “What are you doing, Barnes? And why are you doing it on an iPad? What the hell? Are you slumming?”

“You never gave me a Stark — _Hey!_ I need that! _”_

Steve ignored the scuffle as Tony and Bucky started fighting over the tablet. It kept them both distracted — a bored Tony was even more dangerous than a bored Bucky — while Steve checked light levels and shadows. It didn’t help that Steve had cut Tony off at two drinks. Otherwise, he’d probably be happily buzzed into docility.

Or he’d be stripping on top of the bar in the entertainment room. And _Time_ magazine certainly didn’t need more of those pictures.

Finally, Steve turned and picked up his camera to take a couple of test shots. They came out as good as could be expected, without anything to focus on, but he didn’t want to give things away.

“All right. Tony, go to the far side of the —” Steve turned and saw the scuffle had ended with Bucky on top of Tony, holding him pinned to the lounge chair. The dog tags had worked free of Bucky’s shirt collar and were swinging against the tip of Tony’s nose.

No force on earth could stop Steve from taking a couple of pictures of _that_.

At the sound of the shutter, Bucky started to giggle. “Heh. Busted.” He looked over at Steve with a half-mischievous, half-apologetic face. “Sorry, did you need him for something?”

Steve grinned and innocently said, “I can probably use this for the magazine.”

 _“Hey!”_ Tony protested. “Get off me, Robocop! Your live-in sex pet’s gonna ruin my image.”

“Not sure you need any help, Stark.” Bucky swung his neck so the dog tags brushed back and forth over Tony’s nose until he started to growl. “All right, all right, calm down, kitten.” Bucky climbed off of Tony’s body without letting up on his wrists until the very last moment. Tony came up swatting at Bucky, and Steve had to turn away and muffle his laugh. Tony’s ‘attack’ was probably meant to be vicious, not ridiculous, but he failed. Miserably.

When Steve could finally control his voice, he said, “Other side of the pool, Tony.”

“If you’re thinking of drowning me, just remember, your cyber-boyfriend’s arm requires regular maintenance,” Tony warned as he brushed off his suit and sauntered away.

Steve went over to Bucky and leaned down for a quick kiss. “You’re adorable, you know.”

Bucky grinned up at him from where he was kneeling on the chair. “Yeah, well you’re hot as fuck when you’re working. Kiss me again.”

“You’ve mentioned that,” Steve muttered, bracing against the chair so he could kiss Bucky far more attentively than before. The feel of Bucky’s metal hand on his neck still made Steve shiver, even after all this time together.

“Mmm... It bears repeating. As does that kiss, later.” Bucky swatted Steve’s butt lightly. “Go wrangle the genius inventor before he breaks shit. Or himself.”

“Actually, I need your help for this part.” Steve looked over at Tony, who was standing at the edge of the pool, beside the diving board. “Care to push him in? I’ll crop you out after.”

When Steve looked back at Bucky, his eyes were alight like a six-year-old’s at Christmas. “For real? I can really do that? Fuck yes, I want to.” He stood up and whispered even more quietly, “Don’t crop my left hand out. It can be Revenge of the Invention.”

Steve grinned. “Perfect. God, you’re brilliant,” he said, pulling Bucky in for a kiss that only ended when Tony started whistling and catcalling across the spacious, tiled room. Then, because Bucky was the sort of person to inspire suspicion, Steve took the light meter from his pocket. “Go check the light down by Tony,” he said in a more normal voice.

“Yes sir, Captain.” Bucky winked so subtly Steve almost missed it. Then he blanked his face and walked away, leaving Steve to pretend to fuss with his camera. He already had it set up correctly, with the right zoom lens — or so he hoped.

“Up on the diving board. Bucky, light check,” Steve shouted, taking his place at the opposite end of the pool.

Bucky followed Tony up onto the diving board and crowded up behind him, holding the light meter out in front of him for a few seconds. Then Bucky pulled it back as if checking the readings, and Steve spared a moment to hope Bucky didn’t drop it in the pool. Steve’s spare light meter was ancient and had a bad battery connection.

Steve raised the camera and started shooting. Tony was relaxed and confident. He even playfully spread his arms as if auditioning for _Titanic_.

A minute later, Steve could just barely hear Bucky say, “Sorry, TS. Lemme just...”

And then he shoved Tony hard with his left hand, and Steve followed his descent, hoping like hell that the gentle tip of the camera didn’t blur the shots. Shouting curses, Tony hit the water and came up sputtering.

“Reach for him!” Steve shouted as another idea hit — the inventor’s hand and the invention, in one frame.

Bucky was crouching on the diving board, and when he clasped Tony’s hand, he tried to pull Tony out of the water with the strength of his cyber-arm alone. Steve crouched, toes at the very edge of the pool, and he even stopped breathing to catch as many shots as he could.

Then, as Tony grabbed hold of Bucky’s metal wrist with both hands, Steve braced his arms on one knee so he could shout, “Drop him, Buck!”

Bucky looked up at Steve, wide-eyed, then murmured something at Tony as he let go and shook his arm free of Tony’s grasp. Tony had breath for one more vicious curse before he went back under, and Steve caught every second of it.

He let the flailing continue for just a few seconds before he lowered the camera. “Okay, help him out!” he shouted as he got back to his feet. He resisted the urge to check the shots on the camera’s screen; the light sucked, and he wanted to be ready to catch any interesting retaliation Tony might think up.

The giggling and apologizing from Bucky as he actually helped Tony out of the pool was profuse. Steve got a couple of shots of Tony the Drowned Rat swearing halfheartedly and struggling not to grin, but the moment had passed. By the time Tony was stripping out of his wet clothes — and throwing them at Bucky — Steve had settled safely at the bar, where he’d set up his laptop and one of his external drives.

A minute later, Bucky came over and slipped behind the bar to switch on the electric kettle, looking highly amused and a bit sheepish. “I promised him a hot toddy. But damn, that was fun.”

“You were perfect. He’s not gonna put out a hit on us, is he?” Steve asked, looking up from his laptop long enough to grin at Bucky.

Whatever Bucky was about to say was lost under Tony’s echoing bellow: _“Nat! I need pants!”_

It took a half-second for the words to process. Steve looked up and saw far too much pale skin and dark hair and not a stitch of clothing. “Uh,” he said, turning back to Bucky in horror.

Bucky shrugged. “Yeah, I should have warned you this would be the consequence.” He dug into the towel cupboard and then followed behind Tony, holding out a purple towel. “Stark, seriously. At least wrap up your junk. I don’t pay Nat enough to deal with that.”

When Bucky came back, Steve stammered, “Is he — Has he — _Always?_ ”

The guarded expression on Bucky’s face spoke volumes. “Uh... there’s been a lot of skinny dipping in this pool, if that’s what you mean. I was surprised he mentioned a swimsuit earlier, if that gives you any idea.”

“We’re buying Nat that Taser she wanted,” Steve said. “And some really, really dark sunglasses.”

“Deal. I think —” Bucky broke off when he heard a ping from his tablet. “Hang on. That might be from Nick. Sorry...”

He headed over to the lounge chair and focused on the screen for a bit. Steve went back to checking through the pictures and transferring files, until he heard a strangled sound coming from behind him.

“Oh, my God, yes. Fuck.”

Steve twisted away from the laptop and saw Bucky staring at the tablet, his hand to his mouth. “Bucky? You okay?”

“Fuck, yes. Better than okay. The Weinsteins have a script they want me to read. Lana Wachowski says the writer is legit. Nick promises it’s not an action movie.”

“You know,” Steve said casually, hiding his grin, “some of us _like_ action movies. It’s only you fancy rich assholes who like artsy shit.”

Bucky threw him a glare with a smirk attached. “I of all people have nothing against action movies, Jesus. It’s just no fun to direct them, is the point. I need to start with something small and _real._ Not full of CG, with everything done in post.”

“So go old-fashioned. Just blow shit up. You like fire, as I recall,” Steve said, abandoning the file transfer. This occasion warranted a hell of a lot more than a hug and a kiss, but there was no way Steve was going to engage in anything more intimate with Stark in the same zip code.

“Lemme read the script first. Then we can argue about how many explosions we can fit in it.” Bucky’s eyes shone at Steve as he leaned in for his kiss. “Gimme a couple hours with it, then we can celebrate. With more of this.” He kissed Steve one more time before his focus went back to the tablet.

Steve didn’t say another word. He could barely breathe through his excitement and hope. This sounded promising, but so had other scripts and projects that had fallen through. Bucky would need more than a couple of hours. He’d skim it once, then go back and read in much more detail, making mental notes, trying to envision what he’d do if the project were in his hands. And with Tony in the house...

Quietly, Steve packed up his laptop and hard drive, then brought everything out to the living room. That had been their second remodeling project, and though everything was dusty from the kitchen renovation, the room was no longer a monument to overblown eighties glamor. Steve could keep Tony occupied there until he drank himself to sleep or decided to go back to Manhattan. With Bucky’s career on the line, he would need the privacy to concentrate.


	17. Chapter 17

**Tuesday, February 10, 2015**

The island was perfect. Turquoise water, palm trees, a beach with smooth sand tinted a light pink from crushed coral. The resort was done up in pastel paints with gleaming white trim. A little beachside bar had a woven shade canopy made from dried palm fronds. Every time Steve turned around, it was like looking at the glossy cover of a travel brochure.

It should have been just the vacation they needed. Between Bucky’s debut as a director getting off the ground and the photoshoots Steve had taken, the last couple of months had been hectic. But at this moment, all Steve could see was the same bland, generic backdrop he’d seen in a thousand wedding photos.

He hated it.

“Uh oh,” Jane said from where she was sprawled on the sand in her spare wedding dress. “He’s got that look on his face, Barnes. Like he’s going to burn the resort down and start over.”

“It’s _bland_ ,” Steve complained, looking to Bucky for help — not that the view helped with Steve’s creativity, unless Jane’s wedding pictures were going to heavily feature Steve stripping Bucky out of his tux one piece at a time. That, he could do. Happily.

“Don’t look at me. You” — Bucky looked as sternly as he could at Jane while lying on his back in the sand — “wanted _him._ Even after I told you about the nightmare of letting him loose in my house to change what he pleased. We’re _still_ living amongst the ruins, six months later.”

“Nobody needs that much crown molding. And it’s not even antique. It’s all pressboard and MDF...” Steve huffed, glaring out at the ocean. Maybe he could do something with a dive? No, Jane would drown, trying to snorkel in that dress.

 _The dress_.

“All right. Plan B,” he said, going for his old makeup kit. He dropped his sunglasses on Bucky’s chest and knelt down in the sand to rifle through the kit. “Jane, how attached to that dress are you?”

“Not very, but I warn you, I prefer to be on top,” she said. “Though I could be coaxed into making an exception. How the hell did you get those shoulders?”

Bucky laughed, saying, “No, honey. When he says something like that, he means he’s going to tear it to shreds.” He looked over at Steve, eyes narrowed. “If you’re thinking zombies again, I swear...”

“I’m thinking we shouldn’t drown her, considering the size of her fiance. He could probably take both of us in a fight.” Steve found his knife at the bottom of the kit, brushed off some foundation powder, and then snapped the blade open.

“He wouldn’t do that. He’s a sweetheart,” Jane said.

“Let’s not find out. Bucky, go find us a boat. Uh, Jane...” Steve hesitated, looking at the dress. “We need to get rid of all the _stuff_ under the skirt. Then I can deal with the — Yeah, okay,” he said, turning politely away when she hiked up the skirt to start stripping off the layers of netting and petticoats.

Bucky got up and came around to face Steve, his mouth all smirk. “Such a gentleman. C’mere, you.” He slid his hand along Steve’s jaw to grab hold of his nape, and pulled him in for a quick, fervent kiss. “I’ll find you a boat, oh Captain, my Captain.”

Steve took hold of Bucky’s arms and spun him around. “Then stop looking over my shoulder so you can gawk at her,” he teased, giving Bucky a shove. “And find me driftwood. Or something that looks like driftwood. A big branch.”

“I wasn’t gawking,” Bucky said as he stepped slowly away. “Besides, I get a free pass with Jane. And vice versa. You should show her the shower pics sometime.” He looked over his shoulder, winked at Jane, and blew a kiss to Steve. “Driftwood and a dinghy, coming right up.”

 

~~~

 

**Sunday, February 15, 2015**

Two in the morning, and the party was still going strong. Steve stalked around the perimeter of the room, wondering how in hell these people had the energy to keep dancing. Or maybe they were all just too drunk to feel exhausted.

The quality of potential photographs had gone severely downhill, once Tony Stark challenged the groom to a drinking contest. By the time Pepper and Jane had found out, half the bridesmaids and most of the groomsmen were barely conscious.

Thankfully, Bucky had the common sense to sneak away after one round. It wasn’t that Steve begrudged him the chance for some well-deserved fun, but he’d been _hinting_ at Steve all night. And Steve wasn’t going to follow through on those ideas if Bucky was too wasted to stand up straight.

“This is pointless,” Steve said as he got back to the corner of the table where Bucky was lurking. “I think I’m done for the night. I guess I can get some blackmail shots of Tony wearing a tiara and veil, but I have a sneaking suspicion it’s nothing new.”

“Nope. A shot like that would get pride of place somewhere in the Tower, probably blown up so big you could see yourself in his pupils.” Bucky tugged at Steve’s sleeve like a tired little kid. “Give up. Jane won’t want pictures of any of this mess.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Take me to bed, Captain.”

Steve slung his new camera over his shoulder. It was a Christmas gift from Bucky and weighed half what his old one had, with three times as much functionality. “I’m not carrying you, so on your feet, Sergeant,” he said, grinning at Bucky.

They escaped onto the patio, where a few hardcore dancers were still at it. They were too busy to notice Steve and Bucky as they went down the stairs and onto the sandy walkway. Steve stopped long enough to take off his shoes, gratefully wiggling his toes. He was tempted to take off his socks, too, but they could wait. “I’m never wearing a fucking tuxedo again. I thought a dress uniform was bad. At least then I had a gun.”

“But then what can I dress you in when I make an honest man out of you?” Bucky’s eyes glinted with humor, but Steve could see the sincerity underneath.

Steve grinned, shoved the camera back, and threw his arm around Bucky’s shoulders. “What’s wrong with nice jeans and a shirt? I look good in jeans. Besides, you’re the pretty one. Look at you,” he said, doing just that as they started walking again, heading for their bungalow. Jane had insisted on booking them as far from the resort as was humanly possible without leaving the private grounds. “Of course, you _had_ to undo the tie. I’d wanted to do that.”

Bucky looked down at the ends of his bowtie draped down his chest and then back up at Steve, an apologetic look in his eyes. “Sorry. It was choking me. Here, I’ll do it again for you.” It took him all of thirty seconds, without a mirror or anything. “There, tied with a bow like a present. Now you can take your time unwrapping me.”

“Hidden talents,” Steve said, pulling Bucky close again. The loud music had subsided to a low bass beat, off-rhythm with the gentle waves. “I can set up the pictures to upload in just a couple of minutes, if you think you can be patient.”

“I’ll do my best, though I reserve the right to start whining halfway through minute three.” Bucky kissed Steve’s temple, sweetly.

“Now you’re making me want to send you back to Basic Training, brat,” Steve threatened, letting the dark night hide his grin. The skies over the island were phenomenal, with almost no light pollution. He was tempted to set up a few long-exposure shots, but the lure of a quiet bed and Bucky in his arms was even stronger.

“You love it. Don’t lie.” Bucky slipped his arm around Steve’s waist and matched step with him. “What would you do if you never had to reprimand me?”

Steve laughed. “Call an exorcist, because I’d know you were possessed. Or maybe just Nat. She could probably take out a demon or two in her spare time.”

“No doubt. All she’d have to do is look at them and raise an eyebrow, and they’d run screaming.” Bucky’s voice shifted to become a bit more serious. “You don’t mind her still living with us full-time, do you?”

“I’d be lost without her,” Steve said honestly. “I’d never feel safe, leaving you alone. Every damn time there’s something on the news about a celebrity stalker...” He shuddered, pulling Bucky off-balance for a few steps to keep him close.

Natalie had long ago made the decision not to show Bucky some of his creepier fan letters, and Steve, after browsing through them, had agreed — and then made damned sure that Bucky was as safe as possible, without feeling stifled. At least Bucky’s past was an advantage. He might be one of America’s favorite child stars, but he was also a soldier who’d gone through hell and back. He knew how to handle himself in a fight. And, more importantly, he knew his only objective in a fight was _escape_ , so he wouldn’t try for any stupid heroics.

Side-by-side, they went up the three steps to the front porch. Steve had his keycard out, so he unlocked and opened the bungalow door. He left the overhead lights off and went to the bed, preferring the soft light from the lamp on the nightstand. The video crew’s lights and the two-hour nightmare of portraits had left him with a low-grade headache from the eye strain.

He got rid of the shoes and got the memory card out of his camera while Bucky went to the bathroom. After a brief stop at the bar, he came back with a bottle of cold water. Steve thanked him with a kiss and drank half of it while setting up the file transfer.

“Three minutes, exactly,” he said when he finally pushed back his chair. “No whining allowed.”

Bucky was propped up against the headboard of the bed, his bare feet crossed at the ankles, the rest of him fully dressed. He looked up from his phone and crooked his finger at Steve, his grin a heart-stopping combination of feral and fond.

“You know the rules, Bucky. Tech out of the bed,” Steve said, getting out of the chair to walk to the foot of the bed.

“I was just plugging it...” Steve’s _Captain_ look didn’t even have to reach full force before Bucky amended his statement. “Okay, I was on Twitter. Your bouquet throwing shot is trending.” He put the phone on the nightstand and plugged it in, then slid down the bed until he was lying flat, putting his hands behind his head on the pillow as he smiled up at Steve.

“That’s because Jane could pitch for the Yankees.” Steve abandoned his jacket on the chair by the window, then crawled up onto the bed. “God, you’re fucking gorgeous. Why didn’t I figure out an excuse to put you in a tux sooner?” he asked, running his finger up the line of white shirt studs, to the bow tie. He had no idea if pulling on one end would tighten it or undo the knot, so he tugged at the middle instead. The tie didn’t loosen, but Bucky took it as a hint to raise his head and kiss him, so it worked out just fine, as far as Steve was concerned.

Bucky pulled back only far enough so his lips brushed against Steve’s as he spoke. “Tug on one of the pointy corners, babe.”

Steve huffed and freed the tie, breaking the kiss long enough to get at the top shirt button. “Complicated. Next time, dress uniform,” he decided, kissing down Bucky’s throat. “At least for me. You look good in anything.”

Leaning his head back to give Steve all the room he needed, Bucky responded, “Why do you think I’ve been propositioning you all night, whispering what I want you to do to me into your ear, hiding in convenient corners to catch you for a second? Because you looked so fucking good today I was going kinda crazy. The fact that I didn’t drag you off and fuck you in the middle of the reception is a true testament to how much I love Jane and her fucking wedding pictures.”

Steve laughed, working through the top couple of shirt studs. He got one loose but dropped the other down under the shirt. Why couldn’t they be normal fucking buttons? “You were also the maid of honor, so you were holding a bouquet of about eight hundred roses. I swear, that thing must’ve weighed more than Jane does. How did she even carry it?” he asked, being more careful with the third. He didn’t want Bucky getting stabbed by the lost one, but he didn’t want to risk ripping the shirt by sticking a hand down to fish the little bit of metal out.

“She works out. Hurry up, already. I’ve been half-hard for like two hours waiting for you to finish up.” Bucky raised his hips, seeking contact, but Steve shoved him back down.

“Patience,” he scolded, giving up on the shirt studs so he could steal another kiss. He actually loved Bucky’s impatience, but he never let it affect him. Fast and hard was fun sometimes, but tonight he wanted to relax and take his time. He and Bucky had been sleeping later every day since arriving on the island, so to Steve it barely felt like midnight. He moved from Bucky’s lips to his jaw, then to his ear, whispering, “I could do this all night, love.”

Bucky’s breath caught and held, and it took him a moment to find enough to speak. “Fuck. Yes. Just promise that at some point I’m actually naked.”

“I promise.” Steve ducked and tugged Bucky’s shirt open, then laughed as his fingers encountered a familiar metal chain. “I didn’t know Jane had the wedding party in dog tags,” he said, hooking a finger under the chain to lift the tags.

Something about the sound caught his attention, distracting him from the kiss he’d wanted. He looked down, hearing more than just two steel tags clicking together. In addition to a tag, the second, smaller chain held a brushed silver ring inscribed with black grooves dividing it into three sections. The inside was curved and polished.

“Whose is this?” Steve asked, trying to remember if Bucky had mentioned something about carrying an extra ring. He knelt up so he could turn the ring. The center section was broken up by a tiny diamond. “Or is it backup for Jane?”

“It’s yours, if you’ll have me.” Bucky’s smile was radiant, and his eyes crinkled in delight and anticipation.

“Mine?” Steve asked, going blank for one second too long, before his thoughts caught up with him. _A diamond ring_. “Me? You? You want —” He knelt back on Bucky’s thighs, holding up the ring. The way the diamond flashed warned him that his hand was shaking.

Bucky was pulled up into a sitting position when Steve sat back still holding onto the chain around his neck. He chuckled fondly. “I want. You and me. Though I swear to God, if you wear jeans to our wedding I will shoot you.”

Steve laughed, feeling just a little dizzy. The last few months had been the best of his life. While they hadn’t done anything big to announce their relationship — no interviews or talk shows or anything — they hadn’t kept things secret, either. Nick’s office hadn’t responded to the few pictures snapped of them holding hands out in public, and eventually only a few determined stalkers were still sniffing around in hopes of a scandal.

But now, there really wouldn’t be one. Assuming Steve could talk Bucky into a quiet wedding, rather than a take-over-the-island-with-five-hundred-guests week-long affair like Jane.

Still holding onto the ring, Steve put his free hand on Bucky’s nape and kissed him, long and deep, trying to let the kiss say everything he couldn’t put into words. Bucky tugged at the back of Steve’s shirt, then slid his hands under, flattening his palms against Steve’s skin. The metal hand was cool, making Steve flinch in surprise with another breathy laugh.

“Bastard,” he accused, grinning at Bucky. “If that’s how you’re gonna be...”

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’.” Bucky’s grin was sliding towards mischievous. “Because you know exactly how I’m gonna be, thank Christ. You know me better than anyone.”

“Maybe, except —” Steve let out a laugh as he realized exactly what he had to do next. “Get that off the chain,” he said, twisting off Bucky’s lap.

“Where the fuck are you going?” Bucky sounded put out, but he was also following orders.

“Dealing with your best man.” Steve thought about going for the camera across the room, but he’d have to find one of his spare memory cards, then transfer the file so he could email it. Besides, his phone would be good enough. He got it out of his jacket, then climbed back up onto the bed. While Bucky was closing the second chain back in place, now without the ring, Steve unbuttoned Bucky’s white brocade waistcoat so he could get at the real shirt buttons concealed underneath.

“Hey, no tech in bed. Stop breaking the rules that you set up.”

“I’m an officer. It’s my job to break my own rules.” Steve pulled Bucky’s shirt out of his pants, then shoved the fabric aside, baring his chest. “God, you’re gorgeous. Stop making me want to go get my fucking camera.”

“I’d prefer I made you want to get naked and fuck me already, but I’ll take the compliment.” Bucky watched Steve’s hands for just another second before he started whining, “Steve, what _are_ you doing?”

“Are you keeping that ring, or do I get to wear it?” Steve countered, lifting his left hand. Still shaking. God. He took a deep breath, but it didn’t help.

Bucky’s eyes went wide. He reverently took hold of Steve’s hand, looking back up to make eye contact with a sweet, fond smile, then slid the ring onto Steve’s third finger, turning it so the diamond was facing up. “There. What do you think?”

Steve licked his lips and rubbed his thumb against the underside of the ring as if convincing himself it was real. “It’s perfect.” He looked at Bucky, meeting his eyes. “I’ll get the details of your security breach tomorrow. For tonight, I’ll just say I love you.”

The color rose on Bucky’s neck as he grinned sheepishly. “You think I fucking left the house for this? That’s what the internet is for.” He leaned in closer and lowered his voice. “Say it again.”

Steve put the phone down so he could cup Bucky’s face in his hands. “I love you, even with your rotten language,” he said, leaning in to kiss Bucky.

Bucky kissed him back, deeply and passionately. When he pulled back, breathless, his voice was almost a whisper. “You love my rotten language, too, jerk.” Then he laced his fingers together around the back Steve’s neck and pressed their foreheads together, saying, “God, I love you so fucking much.”

Steve laughed, eyes burning with unshed tears of happiness. He nipped at Bucky’s lower lip and said, “We’re running our wedding vows through a censor, if that’s how you’re gonna be. Now be a good boy and lie back.” He let go of Bucky’s face and gave him a shove.

Bucky let go of him and flopped back on the bed as if boneless, grinning like the cat who ate the canary. “Yes, sir.”

Steve picked up the phone and flattened his left hand on Bucky’s chest, right next to the dog tags, composing the shot by instinct. He unlocked the phone and opened the camera app, then lined up the shot. The flash was bright, making him and Bucky both blink a couple of times. By now, Steve had Jane’s direct number memorized for wedding planning purposes. He attached the picture to a text and sent it, not at all concerned by the late hour.

“There. No getting out of this now, Barnes,” he said, dropping the phone so he could sprawl on top of Bucky.

“Good, I have no —” Bucky’s eyes narrowed. “Wait, how public did you just go with that shot?”

Steve’s smile disappeared under a moment of panic — and, yes, disappointment. “Was I supposed to hide the ring when we’re not alone?”

“God, no. Fuck, no. Wear it whenever you want. Or keep it around your neck, I don’t care.” Bucky grabbed hold of Steve’s left hand and brought it to his lips to kiss the ring. “I just wanted to know if _this_ is going to be trending when I wake up tomorrow.”

“We’re not hiding this?” Steve asked before he could stop himself, needing the reassurance.

Bucky paused for just a split second before answering. “I wasn’t planning on it, though I figured we’d keep the wedding small and private to not be hassled. Why, do you think we should?”

“No. I don’t want to. If you’re —”

A buzz interrupted, and they both looked over at Steve’s phone. Steve picked it up, then laughed.

“Jane says to stop fucking with the phone and fuck you instead. And that she helped you pick out the ring. Quote: _You don’t think I’d let him do that on his own, do you?_ ” Steve read, glancing at Bucky. “So it’s a conspiracy now? You realize that means I get Sam. And I’m gonna have to enlist Nat on my side, right?”

“Oh, fuck. Fine, but I get Nick _and_ Tony, so there.” Bucky actually stuck his tongue out at Steve.

“Bring it, Barnes,” Steve challenged, turning off his phone in case Jane finished up with her new husband early. He tossed the phone onto the chair with his jacket, taking hold of Bucky’s hands. “Between me, Nat, and Sam, there’s nothing we can’t handle,” he said, pinning Bucky to the bed.

Bucky huffed out his breath, then drew air back into his lungs slowly, as his pupils blew wide. His voice had gone breathy when he finally spoke. “I absolutely believe it. But that whole ‘you and me’ thing, let’s just stick with that for a while, huh?”

“I don’t plan to share. I can be incredibly greedy,” Steve warned. “Especially with how much I love you. So yeah, you’re stuck with just me.”

“Thank fuck.” Bucky took another deep breath, the muscles and the plates in his arms flexing. “But okay now, seriously, mission focus, Captain. I’m still mostly dressed, and that needs to change, stat.”

Steve huffed and kissed the tip of Bucky’s nose. “You’re the one who interrupted the sex with romance, Barnes. You’re losing your touch.”

Bucky scrunched up his face at the kiss, then smiled in a way that brought out his dimples. “Yeah, well... Worth it to gain a fiance.”

**Author's Note:**

> ~~~  
> Thank you all for reading this! As always, kudos and comments are appreciated, as are recs. This is a huge fandom, and we can only reach a little corner of it. :)
> 
> If you want to find out what we're writing next or want to talk with us, you can find us on Tumblr:
> 
> rayvanfox is at [zooeyscigar.tumblr.com](http://zooeyscigar.tumblr.com)
> 
> Kryptaria is at [kryptaria.tumblr.com](http://kryptaria.tumblr.com)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [ART: Murder Kitten](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8545570) by [kjanddean](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjanddean/pseuds/kjanddean)




End file.
